Strangers Like Us
by Lucesco
Summary: Gohan X Videl It's a highschool fic. Follow Videl as she tries to uncover the secrets of the enigma called Gohan, finding the most unexpected, infuriating, insufferable but unmistakably the most heavenly feeling called love along the way...
1. Me and the Life I Loathe

**Hi everyone!**

**It was strange, but I suddenly had enough inspiration to write this :O It was in my mind for quite some time and yesterday I decided that I would finally begin with it. **

**This story will have a sequal, I can already tell (if I'm able to finish this one at least). The sequal will be Gohan's take on** **everything, since everything in this one will be through the eyes of Videl.**

**Without any further delay, the story shall commence :p**

* * *

Chapter one:

Me and the Life I Loathe

As always, the beginning of my day, whether it turns out to be bad day or a tolerable, whether the sun is shining brightly or it is raining cats and dogs, whether it is summer or winter, spring or autumn… the day is initiated by the most annoying, despicable, and unmistakably the most unbearable sound I have ever heard, a sound I hear every morning, but where I just can't seem to get used to even if I would hear it a thousand times a day…

Beep…

Beep…

Beep…

The fear of all those who love to sleep in, of all those who are reluctant to meet a new day, of all those who want to remain in the world of dreams and surrealism. The fear of all men and women, adults and children, employers and employees, teachers and student.

And I belong to the last group.

With a groan I rolled over to the other side of my fairly large bed and without hesitance I slammed my fist into the reason that my day was already ruined:

The dreadful alarm clock.

When my fist hit the snooze button on top of the small clock with more force than I had intended, the sound immediately stopped and gratefully, yet still annoyed, I dove deeper into my quilt, not quite ready to rise and greet the day with a smile… or in my case, a scowl.

I almost again fell asleep, barely being aware of my surroundings in my deep state of unconsciousness, until ten minutes later I was again awoken by a sound that anyone should be spared of at this hour in the morning.

"_Good morning, Satan City!__"_

Bah, whose bright idea was it to invent the clock radio?

"_It is a beautiful day in the sunny, orange city and I just heard that it's going to be even better. The weather's going to be friendly to us with temperatures above 70 degrees and a mild east-wind. So that must be kick-ass news for all the young students of Satan City. Yes, yes folk, today is the first day of the new schoolyear!"_

I let out a muffled grunt from under my quilt. Stupid DJ, he just had to remind me of my soon-to-be-realized nightmare.

"_So all the students listening to Ricky Kenicky's Monday Morning Moodbooster: I wish you a good year and keep in mind only one thing: Senior prom!__ That's where you doing it for! So tell me, how was your prom when you were in highschool, Eve?"_

The giggling voice of the fellow, female DJ told us all the insignificant details of her uninteresting prom and I was listening to it with the most aggravated mood I had ever had at this hour.

"_Okay, Eve, perhaps you should stop__ now."_

"Thank you!" I muttered with heavy sarcasm as I finally decided to rise from out of my quilt.

"_So people, c'mon, come ooooonn. Rise and shine, it's a beautiful day!"_

I cocked my eyebrows when I heard the background tune they used this time. Argh, who in the world would ever want to listen to the melody of '_always look on the bright side of life' _when it was the beginning of a miserable day, and even more so, the start of a miserable year? I wondered if Knicky McDicky, or whatever his name was, was intending to send students into their customary end-of-the-schoolyear-depression already.

"And for all the poor students tuning in… I really do feel sorry for y'all. This one's for you, U2 with '_Beautiful Day.'"_

Ah, better. Much better.

With a reluctance that everyone has to leave his warm and comfortable bed, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and I let my feet reach to the ground, a shiver going through my spine as I touched the cold surface of my laminated floor.

Now there was no way I could go back.

The year had started today.

I rose from my bed and waggled to the bathroom to take a quick shower, which I hoped would let me forget about today.

It did not.

I let the warm water go over my body, but it didn't soothe me as it should. Even my favorite shower gel (orange blossom) couldn't lift my mood up. After a few minutes of standing motionlessly under the showerhead, I decided that either I could remain standing there in the cabin all day, skipping the beginning of the year quietly and hoping that no-one would notice, or I could go to school after all.

In all my cowardice, I chose the second option.

With the same apprehension as I had before taking shower, I carefully dried myself with the big white towels, encircling my body with one and twisting my damp hair into the other. I walked into my room again and with a sigh I looked at the alarm. The red numbers on the little screen had changed until they read 06:14. Somehow I had the idea that the alarm was sticking out its tongue to me. But that must have been my imagination.

Slowly, as if I wanted to make time pass more slowly, I dressed myself into my clothes. The DJ on the radio had been right, it was a beautiful day, with a perfect blue, cloudless sky and the warm sun just above the horizon. So I decided I would do some skating before I went to school.

That was something I always liked to do. Skating was like walking to me and I seriously can't remember a time that I couldn't skate. My mother always said that it was like I could skate sooner than I could walk, that I was born in my in-lines. I think I believed that up until I was ten or something, but then I grew older and started to realize that such things weren't possible. Still, skating was one of my passions in life and I was positive that it would help me get over my first-day-of-the-year-depression.

I combed my tangled, still damp hair, I brushed my teeth and got my in-lines out of the closet and ordered myself to look in the mirror just one time. And when I did, I was not entirely satisfied with the sight I saw.

My clothes were fine. I wore a pair of baggy gray shorts that came to my knees and a loose white sweater that came to my hips. It somehow gave me the 'Don't mess with me' attitude and I liked it. But it were not the clothes I was worried about.

I slightly bent forward and looked at my face in the mirror. My skin, my almost translucent skin, was awfully pale today, lacking any color on my cheeks. It was plainly dull, and with horrified disappointment I noticed that my skin didn't quite hide the purplish, dark rings under my eyes. I scolded at myself for not taking any sleeping tablets yesterday… I had had a rough night, for fear for today. I clasped my shoulder length black hair that framed my face sleekly and I slowly let my shoulders hang as I noticed that the black hair also turned out to be quite a contribution to the shade of my skin. The contrast, I thought, was quite freaky and it made my face even more paler than it already was. The only thing that pulled my face a little bit out of the veil of dullness, were my eyes. I was kind of pleased with my eyes. They carried of a deep and clear shade of blue, but at the same time almost bordering to violet. My eyes were my pride, not only because I thought they were kind of nice, but also because I had inherited them from my mother.

For a few minutes I remained like this, until, the alarm reading 6:26, I decided it was time for me to make my way to the dining room, where my father would inevitably be waiting for me with breakfast.

As if today wasn't bad as it was, I also had to play the good daughter for a few minutes. Because that was how long I would be in there… a few minutes. I would stuff my face with my breakfast and then I would head out immediately to the centre of Satan City, where I could skate at will through the park and over the broad pavements of the city's streets.

With my aggravated mood almost bordering to anger I strode out of my room to go and eat my damn breakfast with my father. I went downstairs, almost falling of the stairs in the process. It was sheer luck that our butler was at the right place at the right time and caught me before I would make that painful fall to the stone ground.

"Careful, Miss Satan… We wouldn't want you to miss out on your first day." The butler said with an encouraging smile on his handsome face. I muttered indecipherably, being a little bit ashamed with my unintentional escapade on the stairs. But my thoughts had grown darker…

It was a sign.

An almost death experience – well, sort of… don't know if falling of the stairs would have killed me… more likely it would have given me a broken leg or something – was an omen. Especially today, on the first day of school. I let my head hang in despair.

How in the world was I going to survive this year?

I muttered my awkward thanks to the butler and made my was to the dining room, this time without falling.

When I entered the room, I saw I had been right about my father. He was sitting at the head of the table, the Satan Daily pontifically before him, making it impossible for me to see his face. Not that I needed to see, I knew exactly what he looked like. Behind those thin sheets of paper was a heavily and unnaturally tanned face, with blindingly white (and fake, I might add) teeth and black, afro-like hair. He had a carefully styled mustache on his upper lip and traces of stubble all the way to his ridiculous whiskers. My father was literally a parody on himself, only he had no clue that he looked like a clown rather than the handsome man he once was.

"Good morning." I mumbled as I unwillingly made my way to the chair on his left.

"G'morning, sweet pea." He said tonelessly from behind his paper, obviously not intending on paying much attention to me.

I didn't mind.

But what I did mind, was the endearment he used.

"Dad, don't call me that." I merely stated coldly, as I sat down onto the softly pillowed chair.

"Oh, sorry." Came his aloof response and I rolled my eyes. Could that man be more disinterested.

Quickly I poured some fresh orange juice into one of the crystal glasses and collected some toast and eggs onto my plate. This would be one quick breakfast. I ate my food without any further delay, with that gaze of an apparently escaped criminal on my right (remember, the front page of the paper was where my father face should be). Needless to say, I was surprised when all of a sudden I heard my father voice.

"So, your first day of school, huh?" He said without lowering his paper.

I watched the photograph of the escaped criminal with suspicion, pretending it to be my father's face. It was easier to talk to him this way.

"Yeah." I replied sulkily, still kind of shocked that he had opened his mouth and said something to me. The only exchange of words we normally had in the morning were 'good morning' and 'goodbye', and any other verbal contact was limited to 'pass the salt, please' or 'what do the weather forecasts say?'

"Excited?" He asked, apparently being forced to ask me about my school because of his father instincts, but too lazy to form whole sentences because of his own character. I, again, rolled my eyes.

"I'm thrilled." Came my overly sarcastic reply. He didn't catch it.

"It's your last year, huh?"

'My, my father… how did you get so observant?' was a thought that ran through my mind as I took a few bites of my toast.

"It is."

I heard him grunt in reply and he turned another page of his paper. I thought this was the end of our extremely long conversation (at least, for our terms) and I almost sighed in relief.

But he continued, to my great dismay.

"I know I should say you should give it your best shot, but you don't have to. I already made sure that you pass for all your tests." Came his extraordinary long array of words.

I merely nodded, and as he couldn't see it, he took my silence as an answer. We finished our meals without any further exchange of words. He continued on reading his paper as he had done all the time and I was lost in my endless stream of thoughts.

My father, Hercule Satan, had already made sure that I pass for all my tests… I didn't even want to know how, but probably involved a large sum of Satan money. So basically I could just sit back and relax the entire year, because no matter what, it was certain that I already had my diploma's. If I wanted, I would never have to open a single book to study for any kind of test or make my homework. And that is how it always has been on highschool. My father had made sure I passed every year.

But just like I did every year, I decided for myself that I indeed would give it my best shot, even though it wasn't required. It _was_ the last chance I had, after all. My last chance to be a student, for next year, I would be following my father's footsteps and I would become a true martial artist. That meant that this year would only be less nightmarish than the next. I should enjoy it while I still could. So I decided I would make the best of it.

I finished my breakfast and saying a quick 'goodbye' I almost ran out of the room, my in-lines dangling in my hand. I put them on in our excessively huge garden, since the servants wouldn't appreciate it if I put them on in the house. I was too polite for that anyway.

I got my blue I-pod out of my pocket and I put the plugs in my ears. I would not be distracted by anything while I was skating. I slid the I-pod in the pocket of my shorts again and with the hood of my sweater covering my hair, I skated out of the garden and of the property.

I quickly slid across a long lane of large villa's, some quite like my father's but never as big or with having as much ground as my father, and in no time at all I came to the street's end.

With no trouble at all, since I took this route several times a week, I skated through a few empty streets, until it finally got more crowded. The next couple of streets were full of people and it got more crowded and crowded with each passing corner. In a few minutes I was in the old centre of Satan City, with the noisy traffic and the stress-out people.

Freer and lighter than I had felt this entire morning, I skated on the broad pavements, probably getting on people's nerves as I carefully avoided them, but came too close to them nonetheless. I could only laugh at their fear for a collision. I was a too good of a skater to crash into someone or something anyway.

I reached the city park and I left the pavements of the streets to slide my way to the winding paths of the park lanes, relieving all the people I supposedly put into jeopardy with my hazardous, but controlled skating.

The park was considerably less crowded than the streets of Satan City, and I only came across a couple of runners. I wasn't surprised. No-one in this city had time for something like working out or exrecizing, especially not in the morning. I did however see some irritated dog owners, who were pushing their dogs almost pleadingly to relieve themselves.

I kept on doing my thing with the music in my ears. I was listening to a rather unknown rock band, who were still making some quality music. They probably would go commercial one of these years, so I enjoyed them as much as I could now.

With satisfaction I noticed that nobody I had came across, not in the park and also not on the streets, had turned their head towards me to stare at me rudely. They probably hadn't recognized me with my hood on and I smiled contently. Nothing was worse than to be stared at because of your celebrity status.

Because I was quite a celebrity.

And it was not because of the reasons I would have liked, but because of my father. I was, after all, the famous daughter of Mr. Satan, savior of the world. And I hated it.

For more than half an hour, I skated through the park like any normal person would, until I decided that I was still quite hungry. The breakfast I had eaten wasn't really enough for me, but at the time I didn't want to eat more because then I would be stuck in one room with my father longer than I would have liked. I did anything to avoid that possibility.

So I left the winding paths of the park and I reached the now even more crowded pavements again. I crossed the busy road after the traffic lights allowed me (and dozens of other people for that matter, but that's only a detail) and I was now on the other side of the road, where the shops and restaurants and the cafeteria's were. Without thinking , because I came there so often, I slid to a small cafeteria with a signboard with 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' on it.

I knew the name was stupid, but they had the most delicious lettuce, cucumber and cheese (and then I mean the real cheese) sandwiches in the city. So with my skates on, as I knew they wouldn't mind anyway, I entered the place and I rolled to the line in front of the counter. The line wasn't very long.

My eyes scoured the place. There were the sitting area on my left, with the small, but cute tables and the comfortable chairs. I wouldn't sit however, I would get my sandwich and leave the place. I wasn't really the sitting person.

There weren't many people in the sitting area. I had expected than much, not only because it was barely after seven, which was quite early for most people, but also because most customers just got their coffee or sandwiches and ran through the door again to be in time for their work. I saw perhaps only ten or twelve people at the tables, whereas if the place were full, it could have hold almost six times as much.

My eyes left the sitting area and it fixed them to the counter. Behind the counter were two girls, giggling and blond and to my slight irritation, quite pretty. They were all pretty, for that matter. And older than me, in their early twenties, while I was a young seventeen years old. I felt self-conscious, all of a sudden.

I fixed my gaze to the ground. I sighed as I thought that people would probably notice the difference between me and those girls. And then the disapproving looks of those girls when they would help me… I was well aware that I wasn't quite up to date with my clothing and that my hair wasn't the latest model either. I also wasn't wearing any make-up… at all… ever. I disliked it.

The girls behind the counter would probably grin triumphantly when they saw me. It wasn't that it didn't happen to me before.

It was in that moment, that unexpected and unprepared moment, that I, in all my sadness, looked up…

… and met _his _eyes.

* * *

**Okay, that's it.**

**So what'd you think? Is it too much that I gave Videl more life that she had in the anime? Let me know what you think.**

**Next chapter is up in an undefinite amount of time, though I don't think it should take too long.**

**Anyway, review please ;)**


	2. Me and the Bizarre Encounter

**A quick update! O**

**Just had so much inspiration!**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter two:

Me and the Bizarre Encounter in a Place Called 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'

He was standing right before me in line, waiting impatiently to have his order taken by one of the pretty girls behind the counter. It was probably in a moment of indifferent curiosity that he had turned his head and looked at me. He had nothing to do, after all, except looking around, his eyes scouring his surroundings as I had done too mere moments before.

When I looked up and met his gaze, I was startled to say the least. My eyes pierced into - What was it? Black? – Yes, black ones. I had never seen anyone before who had the same color of eyes as the young man before me. It seemed like a rather unnatural color, especially for eyes. I thought I might had mistaken… they probably were a very dark shade of brown.

But that is not why I was startled. In his dark orbs I saw genuine interest, not mere indifferent curiosity.

He was a total stranger…

… but it appeared that I had awoken his interest.

My eyes shot down quickly as I realized that. Too quickly, I might add. Quick enough for it to be embarrassing. It was as if you stare at someone and when you finally realize who you are staring at, you quickly look at something else, leaving the other to wonder what you were thinking at the moment you two locked eyes.

And he was probably thinking I was another lovesick teenage girl, who uses words like 'kind of cute' and 'so hot' to describe guys.

Not that I cared…

Hell, I didn't have to justify myself to every guy who just happened to be before me in line.

But still, I was definitely not that girl.

I didn't even know why, probably because he had in turn awoken my own interest, but I looked up again…

… and met his eyes again!

His eyes now carried a glint of humor and his lips were crooked in a smile… to be honest, a rather perfect smile.

I allowed myself just one quick and thorough glance at him. And the first thing I noticed was that he was very handsome… perhaps not handsome as in hot, but handsome as in…

… as in beautiful.

Yes, he was very beautiful, with flawless and well defined features. He had black hair, darker than mine it seemed, that was untidy and unruly, like he was just out of bed and didn't bother to brush it in a model. It gave him a sort of boyish nonchalance, like he just didn't care what he looked like. His skin was pale, though not as pale as mine… and also more alluring than mine. It didn't make him look like he was sick or unhealthy, like my paleness did to me. No, instead it looked like his skin was glowing.

It was not fair. He just breathed flawlessness… everything about him was perfect, from his nose to his chin, from his lips to his eyes, from his jaw line to his hair, from his face to his body.

Because he also happened to have a beautiful body. He was tall, not lankily but gracefully, with broad shoulders and a firm neck. I assumed that there was more perfect about his body, but since he covered himself entirely with his loose, yet rather old-fashioned clothes, I couldn't see, but one could definitely guess.

It made me wonder why he was here at the moment, in a small cafeteria in the big Satan City, instead of on a runway with all the spots on him. That was where I would have imagined him.

It was then that I realized that my small peek turned out to be an insolent five-second stare and I quickly looked away from his smiling, too perfect face.

And I didn't dare to look back.

I mean who was I? I was so plain. Just an ordinary, self-conscious teenage girl, who still thought boys were stupid and who used words like 'girlpower'. It made me feel so gray when I stood next to such a dazzling person like him. So gray that it was depressing, almost enough to just make me turn around and walk through the door, never to be confronted with him again.

And he probably thought that I was just a normal girl, nothing extraordinary. He probably was twenty, or twenty-one, receiving attention from a lot of young women who were both more mature and more beautiful than I was.

Just as I thought about it, the smile on his face had to be mocking.

Not that I cared…

But then, and you can't even imagine how surprised I was, he spoke to me.

"Sorry, can I ask you something?" He asked with a low, mesmerizing voice.

My eyes shot up to him, and I must have looked at him stupidly, because I found out that my mouth was open in a very non-charming manner.

"S-sure." My stuttering reply came. I made a mental note that I had to slam my face into a wall later.

And all the while, he kept smiling at me in a strangely friendly way, as if he really didn't think I was stupid, even though I was questioning my own sanity. I couldn't believe it. Mostly, very attractive people were not very kind, or so I had experienced in the horror called highschool. I just couldn't understand that someone as beautifully handsome as he was, was also nice.

Then I remembered one peculiar incident that happened three years ago. The coolest and most popular guy (you know, senior… footballplayer… president of the student body… senior… filthily rich… handsome… good-dressed… senior) in school, I think his name was Chad Britt, asked me out on a date. I would have said yes, if I wasn't such a good girl and answered to him that my father didn't allow me to date yet. Only that refrained me from saying yes.

I later heard that he only wanted to date me because of my famous father. He would have won the ultimate trophy if he could say that his girlfriend was the daughter of Mr. Satan.

All of a sudden this seemed very relevant for this situation. Chad Britt had been nice, and the perfect guy in front of me was nice too. I suddenly felt very stupid and naïve.

Of course this guy wasn't really interested in me. He must have recognized me as the person I was. Even though I still had my hood on, my face was awfully familiar for every dumb ass on this planet. How could I have expected anything else. He probably wanted to ask me if I really was Mr. Satan's daughter.

I was already waiting for that kind of interrogation.

But then came his real question… and I had been very wrong in my expectations.

"I wanted to ask you what kind of coffee I should take. I'm new here so I have no idea what's nice and what's not." He said with his extremely pleasant voice and I could not help but gawk; he was talking to me and he was talking to me like I was a normal person.

He must have seen me gawking, because he flashed me his white teeth in a very handsome smile.

"Uh, the Heavenly Hazel's fine." I managed to say as I stared at his kind eyes. He nodded in response, never taking his eyes off me.

"I mean, if I ever want coffee, I take that one." I added truthfully. The Heavenly Hazel was my favorite.

He squeezed his lips, obviously considering it, before his smile returned to it.

"Then the Heavenly Hazel it is."

Wait, I didn't quite get that. This…This Greek God came up to me, asked me the weirdest and most unexpected question I could think of at that moment ("what kind of coffee should I take?") and he just trusts the opinion of a complete stranger?

Okay, maybe I had been living in the city for quite some time and had started to get used to rudeness and suspicion, but this was bizarre.

"You always trust the opinion of strangers?" I blurted out, surprised by my own boldness.

"Not really, but you seem to know what you're talking about. And considering that I'm new here and you look friendly… Why not?" He replied while he shrugged his broad shoulders and let out one charming chuckle.

I was stunned…

… Not one guy in my entire life had even managed to stun me. Not even – damn you – Chad Britt. And this guy did it with ease in one second with his boyish charm, beautiful flawlessness and natural kindness. I almost began to question his motives… I had a suspicious nature, after all.

And he called me friendly. I never imagined I looked friendly. I frowned most of the time, and looked bored and uninterested for the rest of it. Hadn't I had the 'don't mess with me' attitude today, something I was so infamous about? When I looked at the mirror this morning, I had.

But then again, I clearly wasn't myself this morning. I, Videl Satan, never looked at a guy with anything else but loathing or suspicion, especially not when that guy is a stranger. I just had a very off morning, I presumed.

And, well, as I was clearly out of character, I might as well go all the way. I decided to… have small talk with him.

"You don't come from here?" I asked as I now crossed my arms and rested my weight on my hip and tried to look at him with an interested, though not overly, expression.

"No, I commute here." He responded and I nodded. I figured he must be in collage.

"Student?"

"Yup."

Bingo.

"I guess I could have figured you were new here." I stated vaguely, hoping that he would respond to it so that we could keep on conversing. Something in me was just screaming for his attention. Luckily for me, he did respond.

"Oh, am I that obvious?" He replied with a laugh, his eyes narrowing with the joy that was so evidently on his face. It was a very contagious laugh, putting a smile on my own face as I listened to it with pleasure. I was so busy ogling him that I almost forgot to answer.

"Well, every soul in this city knows how to take his coffee. Always the dark roast or the extra milk or whatever. I guess only the new, baffled citizens don't know which flavor to pick, because they can't know what's to get out here." I remarked. I instantly regretted my answer.

That was the most stupid, lame explanation I could ever have given.

He, however, didn't seem to think it was strange. Of all the things he could do, his smile widened a little.

"I guess you're right. I only wished that that Tiffany lady would make it easier for all of us and limit that extensive list of choice. It's coffee, why do you need a thousand different flavors?" He asked that innocent glint of humor in his eyes.

I laughed at his humor, though not too much. Didn't want to look like a giggling schoolgirl. But after a few seconds, I realized what he had said.

That Tiffany lady?

"Wait, that Tiffany Lady?" I asked a little more vividly than I would have liked. And in all my vividness, I chased away that beautiful smile on his face. I almost – almost – bent over and cupped his face and begged the smiled back on it. Fortunately, I did have some sense left and so that thought only remained in my mind. But still, his smile was gone, and it had made place for a confused expression, perfect lips parted and perfect eyes wide open.

"Yes, it's in the name of the place, right? Breakfast at Tiffany's." He asked innocently, as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary.

I only looked at him incredulously. Was he kidding?

"Breakfast at Tiffany's." I repeated surprised , hoping that it would ring a bell with him. "Don't you get that reference?"

What's there to get? Breakfast at Tiffany's…

He brought his hand to his firm neck and started to scratch its pale skin as his eyes finally left mine to think about the question I just asked. With his gaze not on me, I could take an insolent peek at his hand. It was large and rough.

"No, I think you lost me there." He admitted while a sheepish smile appeared on his face. I couldn't believe how handsome he was.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's is a very famous movie, a classic." I muttered softly as I felt kind of embarrassed by my vivid outburst just now.

"Oh, I haven't heard of it." He said with a look I couldn't really identify. It took me a while to realize that he looked embarrassed…

… and even a little sad.

I could shoot myself when it finally dawned to me what kind of look that was. It was the kind of look one has when he feels stupid, when he has a feeling of inferiority.

Who the hell was I and what gave me the right to make him feel that way?

"Oh, it's not that famous." I lied quickly. "And it's not that I'm here to judge you or anything."

His smile appeared on his lips again, though I didn't think he bought it. Of course, when I start saying stupid things, I can't seem to stop it anymore.

"Anyway, the name sucks. They would have been better of if they called the place 'the Breakfast Club'."

Only when I saw his confused expression again, I realized that I had again said something I shouldn't. It was the first time in my life that I scowled at myself for having too much knowledge of stupid movies.

"I-eh… Never mind." I said almost apologetically when he didn't seem to be familiar with that movie either. I was so very _not_ easy with guys.

I averted my eyes to the ground and I promised myself that this was the last thing I would say to him. That way I couldn't say something that was totally lame. He probably didn't want to talk to me either. Who would be excited to talk to someone that made him feel self-conscious and embarrassed.

"Hey, can I get you something?" He asked me all of a sudden, surprising me, to say the least. My eyes shot back at him and I saw him looking at me with that friendly smile he had had on his lips before, as if I didn't say all those senseless things.

Well, he was talking to me. It was rude to not say anything back. So I broke the promise to myself of not talking anymore.

"As in paying for me?" I asked while a smile too appeared on my face.

"That's right. Would you like a drink or something?" He asked with humor, though his eyes said that he was serious.

"My, my… Some courtesy in the big Satan City?" I fake mused, trying to provoke him a little. He didn't miss the challenge in my words, since his smile became a sly grin.

"You aren't mocking me, are you?" He asked as he slightly bent his head and looked at me through his long lashes. My knees started to feel a little weak…

… a little.

"Well, it's not something you come across every day. Someone who offers to pay for a fellow citizen is very rare, I can tell from experience." I replied brightly. Or at least, trying to sound brightly. I seriously had no idea what I was talking about.

He let out a small chuckle.

"So the people in this city are that indifferent towards one another." He assumed dubiously.

"Prepare yourself, newbie… They don't give a damn." The bitter humor behind my remark was evident. How I hated this city and its citizens.

"Yet you do." It was not a question. Just an observation. A statement where he seemed to be certain about. I was vaguely aware that my smile faded under the intense gaze I was under. I, once again, was dazzled by his breathtaking presence…

… And then to think the only time a guy made me dazzle was two years ago, when my head was the unfortunate and accidental target of a out-of-control volleyball.

But whatever.

This guy, whoever he was, seemed to know exactly when to pause when he said something, how to empathize the right words, and, above all, how to use his body to enhance everything he said. He was really fluent in body language, using his hands when he spoke, adopting an open attitude, standing at the perfect distance from someone, feeling exactly when he was free to move closer.

No wonder I cared… The guy was an excellent flirt.

"Which brings me back to my question." I heard him say, waking me up from my daydreams. "You are by far the kindest person I have met today, and allow me to thank you for it by getting you something. So do you want some coffee? A sandwich, perhaps?"

It suddenly became uncomfortably warm at the place called 'Breakfast at Tiffany's, and I figured a slight blush had crept to my face.

Darn!

Leave it to my skin to flush at the most inconvenient times. It was always pale, always, except of course for the very few occasions that I'd rather be white than carry the pinkish color I had now. It was plainly embarrassing.

He, however, didn't seem to be annoyed by it. While I desperately tried to fight back the blush that slowly colored my face to a humiliatingly red color, he smiled down at me with that ever so warm expression.

"You don't really have to pay for me." I managed to mutter as I shyly looked at the dark wooden floor.

"I insist." Came his determined reply in that low, almost musical voice, flushing me even more, if that were possible.

"Girl, just let him pay for you and order already, damnit!" Said a high, screeching woman's voice behind me. I jerked around in surprise and to my horror I saw that we had been stalling the entire line behind us in our animated conversation. The customers before us were already gone and now half a dozen of people were behind us, looking at us with irritated, almost angry expressions.

I felt an outburst coming up. How rude people could be!

"Whoops, I guess we'd better order." Came sheepish reply of my unknown companion and when I turned around he had already reached the counter and he looked at me, waiting for me to follow.

I did eventually, trying to take a deep breath to let the anger leave my body. I guess normally I would have yelled back to that rude woman, something along the lines of 'alright, alright… just chill!', but then again, I didn't want to make a bad impression to the mysterious, attractive guy that bothered to talk to me.

When I was at the counter, the guy was looking at me with expecting curiosity. I absently noticed that the two pretty blond girls were practically drooling over him.

"So can I get you something or what?" He asked, as he again flashed me his teeth in a perfect smile. I heard one of the girls behind the counter sigh…

… He didn't seem to care… or notice.

"Alright then, a lettuce, cucumber and cheese sandwich." I answered, accepting my defeat.

The girls immediately started to bustle about quickly, I guess he already orders for himself when I was still debating whether I would get myself into a verbal catfight with the lady behind me. With slight irritation, but also concern, the girls glanced at my companion every once in a while. And they didn't even try to hide it.

But all the while, he was looking at me… I felt myself getting slightly shy under his gaze and so I decided to just looked around, carefully avoiding his eyes.

Eventually we got our orders – he got his Heavenly Hazel and I got my delicious sandwich – and without even giving any attention to the two girls, he paid and I must say I was kind of feeling very smug when I saw the disappointed faces of the blondes.

"Thanks." I muttered to him with my eyes on the ground as we left the counter, feeling that a goodbye was most likely inevitable and soon to come. He probably had somewhere else to go.

"So, eh… I guess I should go now." I said as my eyes met his and – perhaps I'm wrong – I saw a glint of reluctance in his eyes.

"Do you really have to be somewhere?" He asked as I looked into his eyes.

Strange, it was almost as if he didn't want to leave…

… He wouldn't be the only one.

I looked at my watch and found out that it was 7:16. In and hour and fifteen minutes school would begin. What was I to do in the mean time?

Skating?

Nah, the streets were crowded with people and the small paths of the park were probably full with citizens who wanted to make a detour on their way to work…

Going home?

And meeting my father again?! NO!!! No, that was not an option either.

So basically, I didn't have to be somewhere.

A smile returned on his face as he saw me considering my options. I guess he read on my face that I figured I had nothing to do at the moment.

"Why don't we… sit down for a while?" He offered, for the first time with a little hesitance.

"Yes." I replied immediately, perhaps a little too quick.

Yes of course I wanted to spent more time with him than what was considered proper for two strangers!

Yes of course I wanted to sit with him in this stupid cafeteria that carried the name 'Breakfast at Tiffany's!

Yes of course I wanted to keep on conversing with this beautiful, mysterious guy that I only knew for ten minutes!

Yes of course I said yes!

Oh, god… who the hell was I and what had happened to Videl Satan?!

* * *

**What'd you think?**

**Let me know!**

**Review, please... you'll do me a favor!**


	3. Me and My Dilemmas

**It's been a while since I updated this, but I couldn't make excuses for not writing it anymore. This chapter basically stared at me with a look of 'write me, write me' ever since 2008 started and I felt so guilty for neglecting it. Sorry story. **

**Second, I'd like to remind everyone that this story is part of another story I have in mind, written from Gohan's POV. So if I finish this story before I die, you know what will be my next project. So people, relax and take it easy, Gohan's POV will come. Only have to go through 100.000 words before that happens. **

**And one more thing: please keep in mind that Videl is a teenager, with all the dilemmas and insecurities that come with it. Don't you just hate these years, and everyone has them as well. If anyone doesn't have teenage problems please say aye.**

**On to the story.**

* * *

Me and My Dilemmas

I awkwardly slid to the sitting area, being aware that I was followed closely by my mystery guy who was gentlemanly enough to let me go first. It took me a while though; my knees felt kind of wobbly for some reason that was yet unknown to me. I had to persuade myself into believing that it was merely because of the fact that I was still wearing my skates and not because of reasons I didn't want to recognize for myself that made me stand unsteadily on my own feet. As a consequence of this unsteadiness, it took me twice as long to get to a good, kind of secluded table in the back of the place…

… A table for two.

I felt myself getting slightly anxious. I was going to sit down with a guy whose flawlessness equaled, if not surpassed, those of all the males you saw in the adds on the billboards on every corner of every major street of this city. But the best and weirdest thing was… he was so nice as well. Very normal, despite the good looks that would have almost justified him being a conceited, ego tripping, arrogant prick…

… Almost.

And I would sit with him. The stranger and me. All the time I had to tell myself that it was perfectly normal that I would spend the rest of my free morning with a guy whose name I didn't even know… And not to mention with a guy who would be way, way out of my league if this were high school.

Wait, way out of my league?

What the hell...? What was I thinking, I wasn't asking for a date or anything. It's not like I was after him. Damn, I was ten minutes in his presence and already losing my sanity. Geez, thinking things like this… Yes, the guy was attractive, something I reluctantly admitted, but I hadn't jumped at him. I was only about to sit down at a table in a cafeteria that carried the ridiculous name 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' with someone whose conversation I enjoyed this morning…

… that's all.

And that was not that strange.

Because strangers talk to each other all the time. In the bus, on the subways, in the park. It didn't matter if that talk was more of a verbal fight in which both parties exclaimed one vile comment after the other, talking was talking, period. Even though he was…

(sigh)

… out of my league. This case wasn't any different.

But I don't think I believed myself. Heck, I wasn't the only one. The two blond-haired girls were following us with their incredulous, and slightly frustrated gazes. Apparently, they couldn't believe as well that I, of all persons, would be sitting across this model-like male who could just as much have been jumped right out of a Calvin Klein advertisement. If someone had told me this morning that this would happen… well, let's just say I would have laughed the butt out of my panties.

To make sure I really wasn't asleep and dreaming the best, yet the most embarrassing dream ever, I looked back at him, and found him staring at me with intense eyes, before that already familiar crooked smile graced his beautiful lips once again.

And then, to my utmost embarrassment, my worst nightmare became reality.

Because I had been so occupied with staring at him and his perfect crooked smile, that I didn't notice where I was walking. It wasn't until I felt something pulling on my right leg that I realized that I lost my balance. And with horror I felt myself falling forward. Because I stumbled over a leg of a very inconveniently angled table, my right skate hooked right behind the leg. A classic mistake, that could happen to anyone who's in the presence of someone interesting. But it happened to me now, and I instantly regretted that I didn't just stay in bed this morning. Because I was going to humiliate myself, make a fool of myself in front of _this_ guy. I just knew I would fall flat-faced to the ground in the next moment, my reflexes not quick enough to prevent me from falling. As a matter of fact, I was already waiting for my head to hit the hard surface of the wooden floor, my eyes pressed closed.

But it never came…

… to my surprise.

Because the moment that I thought nobody could save me from that inevitable collusion with the ground, I felt a strong hand encircling my upper arm and I was being pulled back against a hard body, as if I bumped into a stone wall with my back. I would be lying if I said that it didn't hurt a little. In fact I let out an a short shriek, that was not only let out because of the surprise of being rescued all of a sudden, but also because of the twinge of pain I felt. And not only the grasp on my arm hurt me, but also the force with which I was pulled against the rock-like person standing behind me.

Person standing behind me?

And I realized that the only person who _was_ standing behind me was the mystery guy. My head whirled to the guy standing behind me and he was indeed holding me firm in place against his chest and he smiled down at me, ever so warmly and friendly, though now a little bit amused.

"Whoa, careful there, that could have gone wrong." He chuckled. I watched his glorious face and almost I smiled too…

… wasn't it for the fact that his clutching my upper arm was a little bit too tight for comfort. Actually, and I'm being very honest right now, 'too tight for comfort' is an understatement. Let's just say that it was a long time ago that I felt this kind of pain, and mind you, I am not exactly a frail lady. But this felt as if his large hand was about to crush the bone of my upper arm to little splinters. His fingers were pressed so deeply into my flesh that I couldn't help myself for letting out a small cry.

It really hurt.

When he heard my cry, I saw the shock appearing on his face. He immediately let me go and he took a step back, a step away from me. My hand shot up to rub over the place where just mere moments before his hand encircled my arm and I looked at him with start evident on my face.

What the hell had just happened?

Did I really hurt my arm because of one simple grip of another one's hand?

Why did he have to be so fanatical anyway? He didn't need to crush my arm just because I was falling over.

He in turn looked at me with horrified shock in his eyes, as if he too couldn't believe what he had done.

"I am so sorry, did I hurt you?" Came his anxious question. I could be mistaken, as a matter of fact, I'm sure I am, but it almost was as if I saw a glint of fear in his eyes.

"Barely." I lied, not wanting to seem weak, though still feeling his firm hold on my arm even though he had already released me. But the pain was not what startled me. It was his exceptionally powerful grasp.

"I guess I got carried away a little while I was pulling you back. Really, I am sorry. I shouldn't have been so rough on you."

I frowned, even though I really wasn't bothered by him hurting me a little. He did save me after all from my embarrassment. But the reason for my frowning was this…

I AM NOT THAT FRAGILE!!!

'I shouldn't have been so rough on you…' That was an insult for a person like me. I _am_ the city's defender, after all, and a great martial artist. Who was _he_ to patronize me?

And I was a little angry. At him, for thinking that I was frail. But the last thing I wanted was to ruin the good mood. So, and this is very uncharacteristic for me, I decided to let it go.

"Don't mention it. Let's just sit down." I offered, still a little indignant. Surprised by my own forgiving, I turned around and started to make my way to the table in the back again. I noticed that he was following me not as closely as he had before.

Thoughts wandered through my mind, even though I had already decided that I had forgiven him. But still…

How could he hurt me?

_Me_, Videl Satan? How?

He had had an exceptionally powerful grasp, though he obviously hadn't intended it to be that powerful. Why would he hurt me, after all? There was no reason. But I couldn't have imagined it, could I?

No, I was pretty sure that it really happened. I fell over, but he grabbed me and pulled me back. Only the force with which he did that was…

… Startling…

… Even for me.

And I have been going through years of intense training, starting when I was five. I was pretty sure I was a tough girl, one of the toughest on the planet, possibly, if I may flatter myself, the toughest. After all, I had a lot of titles on my name, won a lot of prizes and championships. And in all these years of my training, I never came across someone who could so easily make me cringe with pain…

Well, not really pain, but I definitely felt it.

I still felt the ache in my arm, though not a much as before. I again shortly rubbed over my arm, and as weird as it may sound, I felt more curious than ever. Ha, what a joke. Videl Satan being curious about instead of angry at this guy. Yes, truly a very off morning.

After much clumsiness, but fortunately without accidents, I reached a secluded table in the back of the place, the one that I had my eyes on ever since we decided to sit down. I slowly sat down, careful not to fall again, and watched him do the same. I, however, wasn't prepared for the thing he did next.

He took off his jacket…

Now, I was never one of those giggling girls who constantly checked out guys and judged their looks, but _this_ even I couldn't miss. Even if I was blind I'd notice it.

Because under that jacket he wore a white, long sleeved shirt that was, well, pretty tight around his chest. Not too tight, just enough to let us all enjoy the sight. It wasn't a boast, like 'hey, look at me and my chest', it was very subtle, but on the other hand impossible to miss. It suited him… perfectly.

I shouldn't be surprised by it. Everything about him seemed to be perfect. Hmm, a perfect stranger…

I quickly averted my eyes and looked at the pepper and salt set instead. I wondered why I was being so girly today. Seriously, did I miss something? Like, my sanity?

"So, you had a pretty firm clutch back there." I said, trying to start a conversation again to divert my attention from his looks.

It was in vain.

"Oh, I guess I don't know my own strength sometimes." He laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as he did. This gesture gave him a sort of childlike innocence, something I thought only kids who hadn't reached the age of puberty yet possessed. It should have been impossible, but it made him even more handsome than he already was. Before I could commence my ogling again I replied back.

"Perhaps you're secretly a pretty strong guy then, if you have that much strength without your own knowing." It was meant as a joke, but as the words came out of my mouth, I myself noticed the suspicious tone in which I uttered them.

He averted his gaze a little and absently looked at the empty table top, an expression that was unfamiliar to me on his face.

"Yeah, perhaps it's my super powers." He replied with a small chuckle, as if he was thinking about something hilarious I had no idea of. Like a private joke. I didn't like it.

But before I could reply with my usual suspicious tone a waitress came to our table. She was exactly like the other girls that helped us at the counter and my peevish demeanor resurfaced again, if it was ever gone.

Great, another pretty blond. My patience with pretty blonds was growing thinner with each minute.

"Good morning, can I help you?" The waitress asked awfully cheerful. I didn't like people who were this cheerful on such an early morning. But even more so, I didn't like the fact that she was only speaking to him and ignored my presence entirely.

"I'll have a coke please." I said through gritted teeth, and the blond waitress reluctantly turned to me. She gave me a thorough, one-second glance and arched one of her eyebrows, before a fake smile appeared around her lips and she gave me a small nod, turning to my companion again.

"Is there anything I can get you?" She asked him more seductively than would have been appropriate. He just smiled at her though and said 'no, thank you', after which she turned around and walked away from our table, obviously disappointed. I had to keep myself from sticking out my tongue to her as she walked away. I decided it wouldn't make a very good impression on the guy in front of me if I acted like a nine year old kid who's just got a lollypop and the other kid didn't.

"So, a coke huh?" He said with a smile as he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and looked at me intently with twinkling eyes. "You just like a coke in the morning or is it your personal kind of coffee?"

"Oh, I just love the sugar rush." I replied sarcastically as I took a bite off my sandwich. I didn't want to admit that I only ordered it to announce my presence to the waitress who would have otherwise completely 'forgotten' that she was serving two people instead of one who actually drew attention for two. Didn't want to come over as someone who made a big deal out of everything, which actually, if I'm really completely honest with myself, I was. I am definitely not 'chill', to use a mainstream definition. But he chuckled a bit and I knew my answer was the correct one. That's one point for me.

I watched as he tried to make himself comfortable in his chair. He didn't really have much room for his legs (did I mention that he was more than a head taller than me!) so he put them under his seat and placed his one hand on the table top and the other on his right leg. It was a bit of a stiff position to be honest, with straight back, elbows off the table and both his feet firmly on the floor. Not like guys his age used to sit. They took the phase "put you feet up" literally, to my utmost dismay. But that's beside the point.

What isn't beside the point, whichever point that may be, is that he was looking at me intently, as he's done so often in the quarter of an hour since we met. I looked down shyly and thought that I never really met someone who gave me so much of his full attention. And it wasn't because of my celebrity father. I liked that. I was so occupied with this thought that it barely sank in that he was talking to me.

"What is your name?" He asked. When I realized what he asked me, I looked at him startled. I stumbled as I tried to come up with a reply, and the wheels in my mind raced a hundred miles an hour.

My name is Videl Satan. Videl. Satan. Satan. Mr. Satan's daughter. Daughter of the man who saved the world, Mr. Satan. I carry his name and therefore my name is Satan, Videl. Videl goes with Satan and Satan goes with Videl. The one is inextricably bound to the other. Videl…Satan.

This was another one of the many times that I cursed my own family name. The name Satan was more famous than McDonalds. Everyone knows it because it's almost a household name. Only those who lived under a rock for the past ten years… no, who lived on Mars… no, who lived in a friggin different solar system wouldn't know the name Satan. Or Videl.

Now, since the guy sitting opposite me wasn't an alien from what I could tell – he wasn't green and mean with pointy ears and antennas sticking out of his head – I was pretty positive that he was human, and that meant he was bound to be familiar with the Satan name, or the Videl name. And that's exactly the reason I didn't want him to know I was Videl Satan.

It'd ruin everything. Of course he'd interrogate me about my father, my life, my father, my cool celebrity friends, the color of my panties, my father… whatever, and eventually I'd end up signing another person's ass. If… I told him who I was, that is.

I didn't really feel like adding another fan to my fan base, just now I was being treated like the next person for once in my life, something I liked very much and I could get used to.

As I turned to him to announce that my name was none of his business, I saw the genuine curiosity in his eyes. He was interested, as if my name was of some vital importance for one reason or another. No one had ever looked at me like that. I thought this was so…

So…

…Kind.

I forgot the snappy reply, how could I not be nice to him – very uncharacteristic thought - and without thinking I gave my answer.

"I'd rather not tell you my name to be honest." I said.

The smile disappeared from his face and he looked at me surprised. Not as if he thought I was totally weird, just taken aback by my unexpected answer.

"Oh. Oh, okay then, I just thought I… you know. But if you don't… fine, it's fine. Never mind." He stumbled before he took a few sips from his coffee, looking into the cup as if there was something amazingly interesting in there, but I knew he just felt awkward. So did I. I knew it felt for him like I didn't want to get to know him, which was entirely untrue.

When he put his now empty cup on the table again, I could see his face. He looked a bit disappointed though he tried to hide it with a smile. Now I felt even worse about myself. I didn't want him to think I didn't like him.

"Listen," I started, "it's not you. I'm sorry, but I think it's best that we remain nameless to each other, just for the sake of… of anonymity, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah sure."

"I mean, it's complicated."

"Okay."

"Very complicated. And I wish I could explain, but I don't quite know how because it's so… complicated."

"But it's not me?"

"No, not at all.

He nodded reassuringly and smiled his understanding towards me, but still I wasn't certain of his sympathy towards my dilemma. No one was that considerate, right? To just accept a lousy excuse in the lines of 'I can't explain it but it's bad', even though the excuse was true. I felt like I needed to justify myself towards him. Or perhaps rather justify myself towards… myself.

"You know when you just have these… these things that you just can't tell to someone, because that someone would treat you differently after he… or she of course, depends on who you telling it to, but anyway… ehm, after he or she knows those things that you told?" There was no sign of eloquence or construction in my question, I didn't understand it myself either. But he thought seriously about it for a while.

"So what you're saying is that you're worried that I'd treat you in a different way if you tell me your name." He stated eventually, not a question, an observation.

"Well, yeah."

"And you think that because…?"

I opened my mouth to reply but realized that I couldn't answer that question. Not without revealing to him I'm famous thanks to my superhero, world-saving father. I sought for a proper answer, he waiting for me patiently, but decided to alter the direction of this conversation.

"Okay, do you know what the problem is with family names?"

Apparently he didn't see this unexpected turn in our talk coming, and who could blame him for that. He arched both his eyebrows in a quite adorable manner – ugh, ugh adorable… I am Videl! – before he engaged himself in to coming up with an answer to that question. But before he could respond, I did it for him.

"It's the load that's pressed on your shoulders. An either positive, or negative load. Either a famous or infamous surname. And neither of those two is good if you ask me. With a positive load you have to live with the recognition and live up to the reputation of your family, with a negative load you have to live with the disgrace that your family name has brought onto you and cope with the fact that you're forever labeled by other people thanks to your notorious name. Do you know what I mean?"

He smiled sadly as he looked at the empty coffee cup.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." He muttered sympathetically. "Especially the fact that you have to live up to the name. You always seem to be in the shadow of the person who gave the name a positive load, to use your term – good one, by the way."

"Thanks." I replied. I liked it that he understood what I was saying and wondered if perhaps he was in a situation similar to mine.

"So I assume that your family name has a positive or negative load." He said.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Positive or negative?"

"Well, both actually."

"Both? How can the name be famous and infamous at the same time?"

Now I knew that the next was hard to explain, partly because my theory was based on assumption and assumption only. I didn't have any proof for it at all, it was only what I gathered from years and years of observation of my father. It was the biggest secret I carried with me and if anyone was to know that I said this, and that it was my father we were talking about, there would be serious consequences.

But I wanted it off my chest. I wanted to share this secret with a person who didn't know me and my father and who would look at the situation with the most objectivity a stranger could offer. I had to be careful though. To not uncover the greatest scam in human history… or at least, my family's history. It would have devastating results. Why?

Because I knew my father's secret.

Defeated Cell? Yeah right.

"Can I trust you?" I asked the guy in front of me urgently.

He leaned closer to me, studying my face and I saw that he took me very seriously. He was so handsome. Then he grinned playfully and I felt a pleasant, warm feeling in my stomach.

"Haven't your parents told you never to trust strangers?"

I smiled at him, feeling more warm and fuzzy every second as he looked at me with a sparkle in his eyes.

Yes they did, and not only once.

Only truth to be told, this stranger I trusted completely.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think!**

**R&R**


	4. Honesty

**Hi! This is the first the many interludes that will be included in this story, a pause designed to explain Videl's character and motives. This was originally a one-shot but I felt like it just belonged to this story. The next chapter will continue with Gohan and Videl again until the next interlude. **

* * *

Honesty.

One of the most valuable things in life, but which we always screw up. With no exception – aside from children with their magical ability to always speak the truth – every human being is dishonest to himself and to others. And you may think that you aren't, but this is a fact: no human being is completely honest. Not one. Whether we're cheating on the ones we love or telling a little lie to save the situation, dishonesty is universal. And that is hypocritical, because aren't we always saying that lying is a sin? And yet we all do it. Yes, but lying is 'allowed under certain circumstances', like in situations of war, or in politics, or in a society where there is no freedom of speech at all. And there are conditions as well. Lying is completely justified to protect the ones you love. Then it is even honorable. But still, who decides which lying is bad and which lying is permissible? When no one is harmed by the lie? When it's for a good cause? Or is lying a sin at all times?

Of course, people will say that lying is something different than dishonesty. Dishonesty doesn't necessarily mean lying, is what they actually say. It could be that dishonesty is just keeping your silence. Not telling the one you love what's really bothering you about him. Not telling a friend that her old hair looked better than her new. Not telling your teacher that he may have made a mistake. Not saying that you think the woman behind the counter gave you too little exchange back. Keeping silence is what people do all the time. Because they don't want to hurt, because they don't stand up for themselves, because they think they'll look like an idiot, because they aren't sure. This is not wrong or right, it's understandable. Everyone can relate to it, and therefore it is not labeled as 'wrong'. But then, keeping your silence is hiding the truth. And that is also a form of lying.

Conclusion: every human lies.

Therefore: lying is human.

So: lying is universal.

If you continue this experiment, you could also say that lying is wrong and thus every human being is wrong, but that goes too far in my opinion. I am too one of the ones who think that lying is allowed under certain circumstances and with certain conditions.

But fact remains, people are dishonest. Some might feel offended by that accusation, but please… Look in the mirror and say to yourself 'I am always and under any circumstance completely honest. _I am always telling the truth_.'

Can you say that to yourself?

Dishonesty…

…Not that this is necessarily a bad thing. Truth to be told, I don't even think I would like a person who is completely honest, if such a person exists at all. But let's just assume that he does. And with everything that you do, he tells you his opinion, he tells you what's on his mind, he tells you that what you're doing could be done better this or that way, he tells you what he _thinks_. Always. I would think this person is the most insufferable person in the world! Forget honesty, forget wrong or right, someone who always comments on _everything_ is just plain _annoying_, whether he's being sincere or not.

The truth can be so infuriating sometimes.

But perhaps, if I look at it another way, I could take it from a person who is always honest in a way that I can understand their motives – and then I'm talking about people who don't just have their opinion ready, how truthful that opinion may be, but about people who explain how they came to those opinions, supported by strong arguments, of which I know and understand where they're coming from. Not agreeing with them perhaps, but at least _comprehending_ them. That it's not about what they say, but _how_ they say it.

That it's about how they bring the truth to my conscience.

Even still, it wouldn't change that I'd think it's annoying when someone comments on everything, no matter how they bring it. I wouldn't find that person annoying, just the fact that he… does it. An opinion, a comment, a remark… that is honest, that is the truth… is often taken as critique. And no one likes to be criticized.

So basically, I think that people should have some boundaries. They should consider others when being honest and know there is a time to talk, and a time to shut up. And fortunately, most people have those boundaries. Most of us are wise enough to recognize those situation when honesty is simply not helping anyone, is not changing anything but when it's only harming and hurting. Like finally deciding to be honest and saying you want to break up with your fiancé between your wedding vows and the 'I do'. It's a pretty dramatic way to call off your wedding and it's the perfect anecdote on a party, but you just can't do that. If you have any respect for your would-be spouse, you don't do that, even though it happens in the movies. Before the wedding day, or after, but not _on _it. Or another example: Saying to a grieving woman who just lost her husband: 'I'm glad he died, your husband was such an asshole.' It might be true, he might be the biggest asshole ever to walk the surface of the earth, you probably hated him and it's your right to have your opinions, but at that moment, being honest is just not the right time.

There's a time and place for everything, and that includes honesty. That's actually what I am trying to say.

But someone who doesn't acknowledge that fact, someone who always speaks his mind, whose opinions are more judgments than anything else, who can't keep a single thought to himself, is found annoying, cruel, aggravating, unsympathetic, insensitive and is generally disliked. Not that he doesn't have the right to tell what he thinks. Of course he does, we live in a free country after all and everyone has the right of freedom of speech. But he could also do it another way. Telling the truth when necessary and leaving his opinions to himself when not asked… or better yet, when not relevant. This is what most people are like, because they are reluctant to hurt someone with their honesty. Because no matter how you put it, the truth can hurt. And though everyone is allowed to tell the truth, I won't sympathize with the ones who would take any opportunity to speak their mind with no regard to other people's feelings. No matter freedom of speech, I have the right to feel insulted when someone hurts me unnecessarily, even if he does it with honesty.

But we also have another right, fortunately. And that's the right of having our own opinions. No one can take that away from us. We can think whatever we want. No one can tell me what to think. I can have my opinions just as the person next to me can have his and the person next to him and so on and etcetera. Someone can tell me that he hates me, that I'm the worst person imaginable, that I'm a spoiled brat, that I am stupid, that I am selfish and egoistical and walk this earth entirely undeserved, that I will burn in hell, that he wished I'd suffer a long and terrible death, that is his opinion, but it will be my opinion that I wouldn't like that person. And some people might say that it's unfair to have a judgment of someone based on his opinions and his opinions, that his not liking me is not a reason for me not to like him, that I am a hypocrite, but when someone says all the terrible things I mentioned above to me, it is just not nice. He is allowed to have his own opinions, but my opinion is that it's disrespectful and demeaning to say those particular kind of thoughts in my face and therefore I do not like him.

As the most brutally honest person is being brutally honest to me, I can choose not to like him, I can choose to find him not a very agreeable person.

It is not that I find honesty a bad thing. Not at all and if you got that impression from my fiery arguments above, then I will immediately tell you that honesty is one of the most valuable things in the world. Without honesty there would be no change of anything, there would be corruption, there would be fear and abuse of power, there would be superficial relationships, there would be silent hatred, there would be no profound dialogue, or pure science, or objective history, or challenging literature. Without honesty there would be no advance in anything, because no one would ever learn from his mistakes. He wouldn't acknowledge them, after all, own them. Without honesty, there wouldn't be people like Copernicus, Galilei, Newton, Darwin, Einstein, every scientist whose discoveries shook the very fundaments of the earth. Who held a mirror in front of our face and made us recognize that there were truths about this world that we never dreamed possible. Without honesty there wouldn't be people like Jesus, Muhammad, Buddha, Confucius, Aristotle, Shakespeare, Marx, Smith, people whose visions changed the world socially, religiously, spiritually, morally, economically, politically and every other –ly you can think of. What would the world have looked like without the revolutionaries that were honest enough to voice their opinions and recognized their society needed to change?

What if people that changed the general thinking hadn't stepped up and voiced their beliefs because they were afraid to be labeled as fanatics, lunatics, fantasts, extremists, fundamentalists?

Without honesty, without truth, what would mankind be at all?

I was only saying that there has to be a difference between a honesty that, when said, changes nothing positively, or at least, when the change doesn't have a long-term effect (if it has a short-term effect, why even bother?), when it is not relevant, and by that I mean not the right time and not the right place (telling a truth in the wrong situation is probably the worst thing to do when you want to change something successfully), when it has no purpose other than hurting people or venting of frustrations (did you notice that when people are frustrated they finally speak the truth in the vilest way possible? The frustration is out but certain things can be destroyed forever), and honesty that does change something positively, change does have a long-term effect, and that is relevant, with the right place and the right time, that has a purpose even though people can/could/may/might be hurt by it.

When honesty has not a single positive effect and when it could only break something that can't be mended, it is best to keep your silence and accept that the situation can't be altered by your own honesty.

But even though being honest and telling the truth has a long-term positive effect, when all the conditions are there to indicate it's the right place and time, and when it has a purpose, a lot of people keep their silence anyway. This has something to do with another ability of human being, to form an opinion about someone, and this is what most people dread when telling the truth. We're afraid of what others think, how they will think about us, what they will say about us. Strangely enough, this is the exact reason why we tell lies. We're so afraid of the opinion of others that we obscure the truth, leave details out, or don't tell the truth at all. And with every lie we tell, our fear for opinions will grow more and more. Apparently we value our own reputation, the esteem of other people, the approval of others, more than changing something by telling the truth and benefiting ourselves and others with that change.

We don't want to hurt people with our honesty, because we think that we won't be liked anymore. We think that we will be rejected because of the truth we tell. We think they will talk about us to other people, and we are afraid that others, some of them who don't even know us, think the things about us that we don't want them to think. We fear the reaction of other people. Reputation, image, approval, being liked, esteem and high regard are keywords in the lives of human beings. We think that those things are so important that we rather remain silent and live with a situation that can be changed, a change that could benefit not only yourself but also other people.

This is not cowardice.

This is _human_.

For a while now, I have difficulty being honest, telling the truth. A certain truth that's governing my life at the moment. And I will explain you why. I will put a mirror in front of my face and acknowledge my own mistake, and my own faults and I will say to myself 'this is me, this is my problem, these are my faults.'

Complete honesty to you and to myself.

I will try to explain my motives for as far as possible. I hope you will understand, though you may not agree with it. And I won't be expecting that either. And I won't be like those completely sincere people I mentioned above, who blurt out truths or opinions randomly, not caring about their relevance or the context or the feelings of others. However, honesty is what I shall achieve, because I do think it's a virtue in this situation… No, not a virtue. It's a goal.

Honesty is a goal.

And with that thought in the back of my head, I will proceed now.

This is about my father and his lies, his lies about what happened at the Cell Games, and me coping with those lies.

The situation I am in is this. I am caught up in a network of lies and deceit. Everything that I ever thought to be true, is I lie created by my father. The reputation I have, the money on my account, the house I live in, the friends I like and don't, the bed I'm sleeping, the butler I adore, the maid I care for, even this computer I'm using… every aspect in my life is connected to my father and his lies. Everything I have and own, everything that is so natural to me, is attained by scam. Falsities. Deceit.

Do you know what it feels like to eat food that is bought by money unfairly earned?

Or to live in a house whose foundations rest on fraud and deception?

Or to live in so much wealth and richness at the expense of others?

Everything around me reminds me that my life is based on mendacity, every morning I wake up with the thought that someone else ought to be living the life that's mine. That I am supposed to be someone else, and that someone else is supposed to be me, that I have an alternate role in this world, not being the Videl Satan that I am, but the Videl Satan that I never was, daughter of a simple man making his living in an honest way, instead of the daughter of a crook, stealing the credit from those it belongs to and that being his profession.

It's driving me mad. The knowledge that all that was ever trusted by me and all that I've ever known, all that was familiar for me, all that I've ever believed in, all that has been good and pleasant and loved, the truth in my life, was never existing at all…

…is slowly making me lose my sanity.

When I found out about my fathers lies, I was devastated. The world around me fell apart, crumbling down because all I thought it was based on was never there in the first place. And there, in the shattered world of my life, in the broken ruins of my childhood, I retreated in the darkest corner and licked my wounds, slowly mending from the shock, the destruction, the hurt that took my childish innocence away from me. When I finally grasped what I found out, what impact this had on me and would have on the world, when I oversaw all that had been confusing me, I knew that the days of my youth were over.

My father, the light of my life, the hope in my heart, my example, my hero, my only parent, destroyed my purity the day I found out the truth about him. If I couldn't rely on my father, who else could I rely on in this world? If my father lied to everyone, why wouldn't he lie to me as well?

If you trust someone completely, and if that someone betrays your trust, it is one of the most painful things imaginable. It's betrayal… and that hurts to the bone. It infects the heart with raw feelings like anger and hatred.

Your parents are your role models when you are young. My father was my role model. Imagine what it means to find out your father has done all the things you were taught never to do.

Never lie, never steal, never cheat, never hurt, never pretend to be something you're not, never use others, never deceive, never do the things you don't want others to do to you.

I tried to look at my father without his cheat. Behavior and personality are two different things. I tried to make myself believe that my father was not a bad person but that he just made some really bad mistakes. But I couldn't. His behavior was him, I couldn't imagine him without it. He wasn't him when he didn't act the way he did. So in my book, his cheating and lying and his scam was, in fact, him. Hercule Satan. I couldn't look at him without seeing that. Was he's done was part of his personality. It came from his hunger for fame and wealth and the thirst to be the best there is. From the absence of any sense of honor in his being, his indifference towards the feelings of others, the fact that he just didn't care and honestly believed that _he_ could get away with it.

The trust is gone.

The admiration is gone.

The respect is gone.

There is loathing. A lot of loathing that sometimes borders to hate.

He destroyed a lot in me. Not only has he taken away my purity and my innocence, but also my trust in people. I am not lying when I say I'm afraid of others. Afraid that they come too close and wreck my heart all over again. The few friendships I have are superficial, because I just can't let them come too close. I have to protect myself. Built high walls around my heart. Allowing no one in.

I told this to some of the ones I care for. Of course not about the treachery of my father, that I will not tell anyone (I will come back to this later on). I've explained it with my mother's death, that I loved her so much that when she died I was afraid to love someone that much again, which is true by the way. They understand this and fortunately respect it and have given up trying to change me.

Some people who don't know why I am like this think I'm cold, snobbish, arrogant and distant. I don't like it when people think of me that way, but I've accepted it. I can even understand it a bit, because I am an uncommonly unkind person. I wouldn't like myself either if I met me. But so be it, I guess. This is the product of all that's happened to me.

The anger towards my father is still there though. It's never gone away actually. I am angry for what he's done, for stealing the honor from the real heroes and lying about it as well. But also for making me part of his lies, for the name I hold, for the blood bond we share. I'm ashamed of it. Ashamed of my own father…

…ashamed of the life I'm living, the life that isn't mine.

There are days that I want to tell the truth about my father. To reveal his deception to the world and to finally end this life of being 'the daughter of Hercule Satan, hero and savior of the world'. But if I tell the truth, the honest truth, about my father, about the falsities he's spread about his victory, about him taking credit for all the things he hasn't done, about him lying whenever he opens his mouth, even to me, about everything, this would have serious consequences. If I tell, I will doom him, myself, the rest of the family and my descendants to a life of shame forever. Like Hitler has damned his descendants for as long as the Second World War is remembered by humans, which is forever. My father would go into history as one of the biggest frauds ever lived, someone who deceived the whole world, and his cowardice will always be remembered.

I can't betray my father. I just can't. Not only for him, but also for myself. For my children. For the children of my children. For all the ones carrying the name Satan. It would be like condemning them for an eternity to the humiliation and the embarrassment my father has brought onto the family. Cursing them with the name of my family. Satan is the most famous name in the world. What would happen if it would become the most infamous?

So to protect the honor of my family, to protect my own honor, I kept my secrets, in the knowledge that I probably could uncover the biggest scam ever recorded in human history. And I do admit now, that I truly am afraid of what other people might think of me if they know the truth. That makes me just as every other human being who fears rejection. He's my father, I carry his name, and though I'm not the one who cheated on the whole world, I am always associated with the ones who have the same family name as I do. And I don't want to be associated with sham and lies and deception. I don't want to be shunned and loathed because of what my father did. I want to spare myself that pain, I want to spare my family that pain, and my descendants.

This is why I'm not telling.

No, I'm not being honest to myself right now. As I'm writing this, I know that all I've wrote is only a half truth. And a half truth is a lie as well. I decided to be completely honest when I started this and that also requires me to be honest to myself. To look in the mirror and see the truth, acknowledge it's there and not denying its existence.

And the truth is… Yes I am afraid of what other people might say and think of me if I uncovered my father's scam. Of course. I'm only human and every human is afraid of the judgments of others. But this is not prevalent for me in deciding whether or not to reveal the actual truth. The real reason is…

He's my father. And I still love him, even though the love is so, so hidden. I hate him. I love him. I hate to love him. But I do. What kind of daughter would I be if I betrayed my father and sold him out to the rest of the world? What would my mother have thought of that?

Family relationships are complicated. The blood bond always creates the expectation that you have to be loyal to one another. Most people don't see this as a burden, because generally not many families expect the impossible of the members. The only thing they ask is not to break the bonds of family. This is natural, only in my family even this is an expectation almost too high to meet. Being loyal to my father and not cut him off is becoming more difficult each day. He is forgetting me slowly, we're getting more and more alienated from each other. We're becoming strangers, sharing the same house, the same blood bond, the same name, but nevertheless strangers. And as he's forgetting me, I am gradually forgetting why I don't break the family bonds. The only thing that reminds me is the thought of my beloved mother. That startles me. Apparently the only reason I'm remaining loyal to my father is my deceased mother, and what she would have said and thought if I gave up on him. I realize now what that means. I would have betrayed my father long ago if it wasn't for the love for my mother. Which means that I have no loyalty towards my father at all. I wouldn't have cared about the blood bond I share with my father, I wouldn't have cared about being his daughter, I wouldn't have cared about his blood that runs through my veins, forget about that!

It's my mother, and the love my mother shared with my father that governs me.

This is the truth.

This is it.

I'm not betraying her.

That's my decision.

But even though I already decided, I often wonder if it's wrong to keep my silence. To protect my family name at the expense of others. And by others I mean both the ones who really saved the day that fatal day the Cell Games took place, and… everyone actually, for not having the chance to honor the true heroes that rescued them. Ensuring the benefit of my family and not that of the greater good… I could change the world with the information I have, and it would be a positive, long-term change, that might hurt people in the beginning, since my father was loved and admired, and would cause for an enormous shock that would go around the whole world, but it would be the right thing to do. The honor wouldn't be going anymore to the person who doesn't deserve it. It would be the right time and place too, because there have been speculations about whether or not my father was the one who finished off Cell. There are hundreds of websites that deny my father was the one who saved us all, mankind isn't entirely stupid. But there are only very few people that believe the stories of the disbelievers.

What does that make of me? Not telling the truth when I know it would be the right thing? Am I selfish? Yes, I probably am. Especially to the one who really did beat Cell, who deserves the honor that has been taken from him. Especially for all the ones that died on that battle field, defending the world from the purest kind of evil. For those who didn't get the recognition they ought to have, my silence is selfish. For all the others who don't know what's happened on that battle field… what they don't know can't harm them. Even if it is wrong to withhold the facts from them.

But all these years that I knew about the truth, the truth that revealed itself to me when I was old and wise enough to question my father, I always had the feeling that not telling the truth…

… was also a form of lying. And lying is bad.

The knowledge I could end the con any time by just opening my mouth and exposing my father and his cheating to the world, and by that bringing justice upon him, has been eating my conscience over the last few years. I desperately wanted to tell the truth, just to get it out sometime, but I had the feeling I couldn't trust it with anyone. Everyone I knew, knew my father personally, after all. They adored my father. Admired my father… Loved my father. He was a deity, a cult, a hero. Would they take his side and tell me I was a liar? Simply not believe me when I say that my father, the great Mr. Satan, didn't even beat Cell? I don't know, and I don't want to either.

And now I come to the moment in which it all changes. Now I suddenly have the opportunity to tell someone my secrets, to share this with another human being, someone who might understand, or at least listen. And I found this in the stranger in front of me who didn't know me and couldn't betray my trust because what would he gain from that? He didn't know I was Videl Satan. That I could just see, he didn't recognize me.

Of course I had to edit the truth. Leave out things such as names and vital information that would reveal everything. But it didn't matter. Most important was that I could tell someone what's been on my chest for years. I longed to tell, to come clean.

It's strange. We are most afraid to be honest to the people we love the dearest. To tell what's on your chest seems more difficult with someone when you are emotionally connected than when you tell a person who you hardly or don't know, who is a complete stranger to you. Perhaps that's why shrinks are so popular. It is easy to talk about your issues when you have nothing to lose. When you have no one to hurt. When you can just walk out the door and say 'ah, glad I got that off my chest', without any strings attaches to the end of the tale.

You can close the last chapter, without someone reminding you of it afterwards.

This stranger wouldn't be my shrink, and I wouldn't find closure when I told him about the issues in depths of my heart. I knew that, I expected that. But talking and someone listening, someone with whom you have no connection or responsibilities, is a solace.

I wanted to tell at last.

Finally.

And so I told.

For as much as I could be, I was honest.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Reactions are much appreciated!**


	5. Talking is the best cure for all pain

**I'd like to thank everyone for reviewing. Really made my day, especially since I have been having tests and exams all week, damn school. Was really nice that people made the effort to leave a message. A kiss to you all... XXX... okay three kisses, but the more the better right ;) Gotta be some more love in the world. Speaking of which, on with the story. **

**And thanks to very kind readers, I now fixed the error that basically ruins the whole story. Thank you, thank you ShadowMajin and SamuraiGirl7, without you, this story wouldn't make sense anymore. Sorry for all the readers who saw this error. Pretend it's not there, okay?**

* * *

"Talking is the best cure for all pain."

"You know, my father is the man everyone admires. The kind of man who made it all, who worked hard and who got to the top and has been there for year and who will be there still for years to come. He's successful in his life, but not only that. He is regarded to as being an exceptionally kind man. A good man. An honorable man. They all love him. For who he is and for what he stands for and for what he's done for everyone."

I paused for a while, not quite knowing where I was going with my story. I had so much to tell, but when it came to it, I didn't know what exactly. Fortunately the stranger in front of me was waiting patiently until I would continue. And after a while I did.

"Only a few years ago, I started to question my father and the things he told me. I noticed that what he told me, about how he's…"

Defeated Cell.

"… helped people, wasn't consistent, it was as if he… added stuff. Every time his stories were different. The general lines of everything were the same, only the details were different. The more he told his story, the more it actually changed. At first I wasn't aware of it. I thought everything he did was great and I accepted it all as a kid accepting sweets. But as I grew up, became more mature, dared to question and to form my own opinions and judgments, I began to doubt my father. I tried to put it all away, telling myself I was being paranoid, that my father would never sell me lies, that he would never lie at all, especially not about…"

His victory.

"…his accomplishments. He was just not the man to do that. It was a confusing period. On the one hand there was the word of my beloved father, whom I adored and admired, on the other my common sense that contradicted all he said. Despite my love for him, I became suspicious. I became obsessed with it, wanted to know if I was being lied to or not. I asked him about his stories, about all the great things he's done, to tell them over and over again, and I pretended to listen to them with admiration and pride, while my mind was working on top speed, administering all the things he said. I even recorded him occasionally, to be sure my memory didn't deceive me."

I paused again as I saw the waitress that helped us earlier approach us with a tray with a can of coke and a glass. She threw me a fake smile as she put the coke and the glass in front of me and shouted an over-the-top 'here you go'. I couldn't even make myself to thank her, she was that annoying. I would have given a lot to whop her ass there and then, for interrupting us and for treating me with false courtesy. But I contained myself.

"If there's anything I can get you, just let me know, okay?" The waitress said, more to my companion than to me, as she looked at him all the time – I didn't miss her winking at him. Neither of us reacted though. We were both waiting for her to leave so I could finish my story. And when she didn't get any reaction from my mystery guy, the waitress walked away quickly, with her nose in the air, probably thinking she was too good to be ignored.

I took a sip from my coke, not bothering to pour it in the glass, as he was waiting for me to continue. I could tell he that he had listened to every word I said so far, because he didn't tear his gaze away and nodded every once in a while. He was a good listener, very pleasant to have him hear what you have to say.

"Charles Dickens once said 'If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything'." I continued after I drank some of my coke.

"Wise words." He muttered, giving me a smile.

"Very. And so true. I remember my father promised me to take me to Capsule Corp. when I was… seven or something."

As I said that I thought I saw my companion arching his eyebrows a bit, but I wasn't really sure. I ignored it though, and continued with my story.

"I told all my friends that I would be going there, that I would meet the famous Bulma Briefs and Dr. Briefs and that they would show me all their new inventions. I was so proud and everyone envied me, because not every soul can get to see the inside of Capsule Corporation. I had been looking forward to that for months, but at the last moment my father cancelled because he had 'a very important appointment' with some lady."

My throat became dry all of a sudden as I thought about that. It was a painful memory, my father letting me down for some woman I later found out was his mistress. It was a time I hadn't yet gotten used to my father's escapades and his tendency to let me down. Apparently the hurt that was resurfaced by that memory was displayed on my face, because my companion was looking at me with a worried expression.

"Are you alright?" He asked. I smiled at that question. It's been a while since someone asked if I was alright.

"Sure." I lied, but I don't think he was convinced. He looked at me suspiciously but didn't say anything. But I took advantage of his silence and I quickly continued with my story.

"But I had to face my friends sooner or later and they were expecting great things from me. So, because I didn't want to look bad in front of everyone, I lied. Said I went there, told them that Bulma Briefs was the coolest person in the world, that Dr. Briefs reminded me of my grandfather, I bragged, I made things up, even told them that Bulma gave me magic chewing gum that would never lose its taste."

By now my companion was laughing heartedly. "Magic chewing gum?" He asked me with incredulous glee.

"I loved Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." I joked, smiling at him though not quite understanding his laughter earlier. It wasn't that weird, every kid used to think that magic objects came from Capsule Corp.

"So what happened?" He asked after ending his fit of laughter.

"They believed me. And of course they did, we were all kids. But a few months later, one of the children I had been bragging to about my visit to Capsule Corp. asked me about the magic chewing gum. I can clearly remember that I laughed at him and said that he had been reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory too often. I had completely forgotten that lie. But the rest of my classmates hadn't. And so I was caught lying. Never felt more embarrassed in my life."

"What goes around, comes around is what they say to that."

"Exactly. But to get back to my story, my father apparently had the same problem. I recorded him, as I mentioned before, and now I knew for sure that the inconsistency in his stories wasn't just memory that was fooling me, but that he actually made up the biggest part of all that he was saying."

"So what did you do next?"

"Well, like I said, I became obsessed by it. I followed him around, even filmed him while he was…"

Training.

"…working. Now this happened for a year. A year long I followed him everywhere around and gathered information, slowly and gradually facing the truth. And eventually I just came to the conclusion that whatever work he was doing, he couldn't have helped all the people he said he helped…"

"Why do you think that?" My companion asked all of a sudden and I was taken aback by that question. I searched for the right words as I didn't really know how to answer that question. How to explain that your father just didn't have the super powers that Cell had and therefore he couldn't have defeated Cell? Dilemmas, dilemmas. Multissimo dilemmas.

"Well," I started cautiously, afraid that I would give him too much information that would blow my cover. "My father just didn't have the…"

Awesome super powers Cell and the unknown warriors had.

"… skills to do the things he said he did."

The guy in front of me looked at me with a confused expression. I knew I wasn't being very clear. 'skills to do that he said he did'… of course it was vague, naturally he didn't understand what I was talking about.

"Look," I decided, "you don't really have to know all the details. Let's just say my father is a very successful business man, a business man who said he helped people with his job. But he didn't help them really. Instead it was others who helped those people and he was the one taking credit for it. Comprends?

"Oohhhh, I comprend yeah." He assented, before suddenly being sympathetic. "And you know this of your father?"

I averted my gaze from him to the can of coke, that was almost half empty now. "Yeah." I muttered.

"That must be difficult for you." He stated gently and I slowly nodded as I felt embarrassed for my own father.

"It kind of is."

We were silent then. I thought about what I said to the stranger in front of me. It would be so easy to tell him everything. That I found videos tapes in the attic, hidden in a box under a dozen of other boxes. Tapes from the Cell Games, actual footage of the battle between the monster and the mysterious fighter. The speed with which they moved, the power of their fight, the technique, the strength… My father told me it were just tricks that did it. Fireworks, mirrors, lightshows. But my father's lies, his lack of fighting skills in comparison to the other mystery warriors, and the tapes of the Games told me enough. One of the unknown fighters had defeated Cell, not my father. It would be so easy to just tell, but as I mentioned before, I couldn't sell my father to the world.

"You know…" I started, talking more to myself than to my companion, "your parents are always the ones you look up to as a child. They're your heroes. Unfortunately I don't have a mother so my father was the only hero I had."

"What's happened to your mother?"

I swallowed deeply. "She died."

There was a silence again. I usually didn't like it when someone asked about my mother. Even though she died years ago, it was still a sore subject. I loved my mother very dearly.

"I'm sorry I brought it up." He said quietly. I could tell he felt uncomfortable as he was looking at me apologetically. This situation must be very awkward for him.

"Forget it. It's been a while." I brushed it off.

"But still. I don't want to remind you of it."

I smiled bitterly. He was nice, but I didn't need his concern. Always hated when people were too compassionate towards me, as if I was a little kid that needed comfort from their apologies.

"Don't worry. Like I said, it's been a while. I can live with it now. But anyway, as my father was the only parent I had, he was my role model. The perfect father. And as every kid looks up to its parents, I looked up to him. But there will be a time that you find out your parents aren't too perfect, or at least, not as perfect as you thought they were. You start to see flaws in them, or disagree with their opinions, questioning their authority eventually. I think everyone will have or has that already with their parent. You grow out of them. I did too with my father. Only this happened when I was perhaps a bit too young."

"That's terrible."

"That's what happens. It could have been anyone. Only it happened to me. I'm fine now."

He looked at me intently as I said that last thing. I averted my gaze, feeling uncomfortable under his.

"You lie." He stated eventually. No question, again an observation. He was good in observing. "I don't believe you are fine with it."

I felt a twinge of irritation and looked at him again. His expression was serious, but his eyes soft. Nevertheless, I didn't like it that he didn't mind his own business. What did he know about me?

"So?" I replied challengingly. "What's it to you anyway?"

"It's none of my business, of course." He admitted calmly, smiling at me. "But if you want to spill your heart to a stranger, there's no need to lie. Like you said, what's it to me anyway? I have nothing to do with it."

"Well, if you so desperately want to know… You're right, I am not fine with it. Happy?"

I knew it was childish but I just couldn't help myself. His smile only got more friendly. He was so kind, I almost felt guilty.

"I'm only happy when it makes you happy."

"What are you? A social worker?"

"I prefer the term GIP: Generally Interested Person'."

"And I am a VIP: Very Irritated Person."

He laughed heartily at my comment. I couldn't help myself but I started smiling too. He just had a very contagious laugh. It made him so handsome.

"Sorry about that." He said between his laughs.

"You should. Next thing you know I'll be RIP. And irritated all the way to the grave."

"Annoying, aren't I? At least that way to the grave won't be a long one then. Spares you from all that suffering."

"Now, that I find so kind of you."

"I knew you liked me."

"Oh it's so, so deep. Who can resist you?"

He smiled and looked at his hands that were folded together on the table top. I could have been mistaken, but I think that he started to blush. I began to smile too. He was so normal, so deliciously normal. Who could have guessed from the way he looked? And not only that, but he also had sarcasm and a very healthy dose of self-humor. I personally liked the first, and everyone knows that self-humor is one of the most appreciated forms of humor. He was the first person I liked in a long time who didn't even try to make me like him. Our conversation went so natural. That was very nice, since mostly people gawked at me most of the time and kissed my ass for the rest of it.

We were in a comfortable silence. I chuckled when I realized that. I thought of a comedian who once said that when a silence falls between two people, the woman always has to break it. 'Beautiful, isn't it? The silence.', and he said that in that whining feminine voice, before he yelled, in his own masculinity, 'WELL, NOT ANYMORE!!!!!' I still have to laugh about it when I think of that. He was so right. Women just aren't as relaxed as men with silence. I could tell from my best friend Erasa… She just won't shut up! Ever! Another… friend, if I could call him a friend, was Sharpener. Fortunately one of his few good traits was that he didn't think it was necessary to break every silence that falls between us, whereas Erasa panics the second she has nothing more to say. I think that's because she hides her own insecurity behind her words. Thinks that people find her boring when she has nothing to say. With Sharpener…

… well, he couldn't even spell insecurity, let alone know its meaning.

After a while of sharing our silence, both being lost in our own trail of thoughts, my companion spoke.

"I still have a few questions, if you don't mind me asking." He said.

"Go ahead." I replied.

"Let me start with the most confronting. How do you feel about what your father has done? For taking credit for other people's actions, I mean."

That was not a very difficult question.

"I'm embarrassed, of course." I replied, feeling the anger towards my father growing in my stomach. "I mean, he could he? He's a fraud. Nothing more than a cheap fraud. And a thief, for stealing other people's credit. Getting rich over the backs of others. Living a life he shouldn't live, he doesn't deserve to live. And he pulled me into it. Do you know how hard that is, to know that you're living in a lie? And it might be harsh to say it about my own father, but the truth is that I hate him for it. Do you think that's harsh?"

"No, not at all actually." He said. I could tell he meant it, that he took me serious.

"He's not only lied to and deceived everyone he supposedly helped, but also me." I began to raise my voice. Once I started venting my frustration about my father, I couldn't stop it anymore. "I'm his own daughter, for Christ's sake. And then he doesn't even feel sorry for it. If he did, he would have told me right? Told me the truth, right?"

"Perhaps he feels too ashamed to talk to you about it. The farther you get into a lie, the harder it is to confess everything."

I knew he was right. And I would understand it with any other person, but not with my father. I was angry with him. So much raw anger in my heart. And all my father's fault.

"I don't feel sorry for that man. Ever. I feel sorry for everyone who deserve the recognition he stole from them, for everyone who he's lied to."

"Also for yourself?"

I looked at him. "Yes, sometimes." I replied truthfully. Because I did. I did pity myself every once in a while, in my foulest mood. "Can you blame me for it?" I added challengingly.

He smiled, disarming me immediately. "No, not at all. Just didn't see you as the victim kind of person."

That I couldn't find an answer to. On the one hand I wanted to scold at him, saying that he didn't know anything about me, that he was no one to judge, that this wasn't any of his business, on the other hand, he was right. Videl Satan was a fighter, not a victim. Or I'd like to believe I was, anyway.

After a while, I chose not to reply to it.

"Next question."

He smiled at me warmly. I still couldn't really believe that I was sitting here opposite him, having this deep conversation about my past with a stranger who was very, very handsome. Handsome enough to drool over, if I weren't Videl.

"Okay. You mentioned something about a negative and positive load that rests on your family name, but I still don't quite understand it." He explained.

"Well," I started, "it's obvious where that positive load comes from. People in…"

All circles.

"… certain circles know the name of my father very well. It is a very famous name. People adore him for everything they think he's done and they adore me for being his daughter. Carrying the family name that I have basically means that I have to keep it high, prove that I am worth the name of my father. It's a lot of pressure, since so many people are expecting so much from me. They expect me to follow my father's footsteps but frankly I just… I just…"

"Want to be yourself." He completed me.

I looked at him, staring into his eyes. "Yes, I want to be myself."

"But you can't."

"No. I can't be myself as long as everyone has expectations of me. They expect me to be incredibly smart or uncommonly nice or stunningly pretty while I'm just… not. I'm plain."

"I have to disagree with you on that though." My companion said a little indignantly, his brows creased. "You actually think that you're plain?"

"Aren't I then?" I retorted.

"Definitely not. I think you are the opposite of plain. You are smart, nice and very pretty."

I stared at him, didn't quite know what to say. He didn't lie, that much I could tell. And his honesty made me silent, though I still didn't quite agree with him. He was looking at me with intense eyes. It seemed my heart skipped a beat.

"So tell me about the negative load." He pressed, not taking his eyes off of me. It took me a while to realize what he said, that much I was dazzled by him.

"The load that my family name carries is positive and negative," I started slowly, "in a way that when my father's scam is revealed it will be infamous…"

Forever.

"… for a long time. If people find out what my father did, the name will no longer be regarded to as a good name. An honor to carry the name. It will be despised, loathed, reviled, perhaps even hated. It's serious business, you know. If anyone is to know, it'll ruin the family."

He seemed to think about that for a while. "So what you're actually saying that the load is either positive or negative. Not positive and negative right?"

"No, not right." I replied. "For me, it's both. I know this, I know the truth about my father. For me, the load that's pressed on my family name is both positive and negative. I have to live with the expectations people set for me, keeping up my family name, and on the other hand with the knowledge that it's all a lie, with the shame of what my father has done."

"So you're in an internal conflict."

"Yeah. And I can't tell anyone."

I shook my head and sighed, running a hand through my sleek hair. He watched me, concern in his eyes.

"You know," I continued after a while, "I have no options left, none other than just shutting up and covering the truth about my father."

"But you're suffering under that option." He contradicted.

"So?" I said, trying to shrug but failing miserably. "If I tell the truth I suffer as well. People are going to associate me with my father's deceit. And my other family members too. And my children. And everyone who carries the name of my family. I don't want that. Do you understand?"

He looked at me, his eyes gentle.

"I think that you are very selfless. I understand you, but you have to think of yourself too. You are putting up a show for yourself, making this all less severe than it actually is and I am not buying it. This is very serious."

I averted my eyes and looked at the still half empty soda can in front of me. I thought about his words and felt a huge sadness covering my heart.

"There is nothing I can do." I said quietly. "I can't just simply tell."

"Yes you can." My companion pressed, leaning towards me. "Listen, do you really think that everyone will associate you with your father and his lies? That they will condemn you for all the things he's done?"

"You don't know how famous my family name is." I said, raising my voice to him now as I was getting a bit annoyed.

"Tell me then."

"No, I am not telling you."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"That is no reason."

I looked at him indignantly. "Haven't you listened to me at all? Don't you know the reason yet? I can't tell you because you'd be like any other bootlicker who knows who I am."

"Are you that famous then?" He asked, now too a bit irritated.

"Yes." I said slowly. "I am that famous. Now end of discussion, I am not telling you who I am, alright? I couldn't tell you anyway, not anymore, because you know the secrets of my father. So will you please just stop… making this more difficult than it already is?"

He leaned away from me and I averted my eyes as a silence came between us. I didn't want to be angry with him, but I still was. For prying so much in my personal life, for pushing me into telling him my name when I had already said I wouldn't… for being as damn nice as he was for trying to help me. But the longer the silence lasted, the worse I felt about myself. He just wanted to help and I was being like this. I didn't understand myself. And I wanted to apologize but I was too proud to actually open my mouth and say I shouldn't have become so angry with him over nothing.

We sat there in silence for a while. I waited for him to say something and he did eventually. But what he said I didn't expect.

"Are you alright?" He asked gently.

I don't know what it was but that simple question moved something in me. I looked at him and met his intense eyes, gentle and free from the irritation they carried not too long ago. I stared at them for a while. It was as if they were apologizing to me.

Before I met his eyes I intended to say I was fine, even though I felt terrible. But now that I met them, I just couldn't. I couldn't lie to him in the face, in front of his eyes. Deep, mysterious eyes.

He leaned towards me again, never ceasing to look at me. I unconsciously leaned towards him as well. I was lost in his gaze and had the cliché feeling time stood still, frozen in my movements.

"Are you hurt?" He asked gently, his eyes warm yet concerned.

This question overwhelmed me. No one had ever asked me that, took the time to ask me that, gave me the attention to wonder if I was hurt. And I had been hurt for a long time. He knew. I felt as if he was looking right through me, as if he saw my soul.

"I am heartbroken." I muttered softly, speaking the truth that I wanted to say since forever. The words came out sadder than I had intended and as I spoke them a sorrow came over my mind. My eyes began to sting, but there were no tears welling up. I was done with tears. Nevertheless, my feelings were stirred more than they had been in long time.

He saw this. The stranger opposite me saw my pain. He tore his gaze away from me, looking at the hand that he had lain on the table top. I followed his gaze and looked at his hand too. A big hand. Rough. It looked strong.

There was a long silence between us, neither of us really knowing what to say to make it all better. But all of a sudden he moved his hand over the table top, slowly but with every intention of moving. I followed his hand, seeing it move closer to mine, which also lay exposed on the table. I didn't stop him but watched.

His and my hand were close enough to touch. I saw he hesitated. But then, he reached out and brushed the back of my hand lightly with his finger tips, carefully, shyly and very gently. I couldn't breathe. My heart was racing. The trail that he made with his fingers seemed to be etching itself on my skin and I was touched, moved by his warm affection.

They say touch is the most beautiful of the five senses. And I think it is. It is essential for non-verbal communication, the oldest form of communication for that matter, and a universal language shared by all animals. That is the most exceptional feature about it. Touch can connect two living beings in a moment of intimacy and affection, no matter the language barrier, no matter the culture differences, no matter kind, or species, or class, or sexuality, or race or any other aspect in our lives that divides us into groups. Touch is a language all living beings use and understand and have learned before they are even born. Touch says so much more than words. The intention can't be mistaken, whereas words can be lied or misinterpreted. No one can miss the meaning of a tender caress of a lover, the warm touch of a mother, the protecting rub of a father, the jolly pat of a friend. The hands of an infant discovering the skin of a big brother, tapping and thumbing as it goes. The soothing embrace of a loved one when you're in grief, stroking your hair lightly. The firm handshake of an acquaintance you haven't seen in a long time that rekindles the old friendship. How incredibly boring and superficial relationships would be if there wasn't such a beautiful sense, a wonderful ability, to touch and to feel the touch and to feel its meaning and its exact intention and the truth behind it.

Touch is feeling.

Touch is truth.

And at this moment I was 'touched' by his touch, touched by his truthful gesture. I would have wept, if I could, it was that beautiful.

"I'm sorry." Was all he said and silently continued to stroke my hand for a while, his fingers touching mine, before he retreated his hand and smiled at me warmly.

I knew I would remember this moment for the rest of my life.

We became silent again, comfortably silent. And for a while, we remained like that, in an unsaid agreement, since every kind of talk between us would ruin the moment we shared right now.

And the truth was, actually… I felt so amazingly, so pleasantly light.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Leave a message if you like. **


	6. Sharing Secrets and Goodbyes

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. My computer is dead. What do you say, dead? Yes dead, kaput, history. All my documents were on that piece of sht. Can you tell I'm frustrated? Ah, don't mind me, I'll just sulk to my wall. At least I have a new laptop! What, a new laptop? Yesyes, you heard me, a new laptop. So I can still write, as you can see. And I brought you a very long chappie, Yoehoe! I won't irritate you any longer. You can go on now.**

**Disclaimer: ...As if you don't know what I'm gonna put here...**

* * *

"So where do you go from now?"

I looked over at him from the cup of tea the I had just ordered several minutes ago after I spilled my life story. Except for the tingling sound my spoon made in the cup as I stirred the tea, there had been absolute silence between me and the gorgeous guy in front of me. It hadn't been an uncomfortable silence though, it had been quite pleasant to be wordless without having to worry about what the other might think of you because you didn't speak. I liked it that we shared these comfortable silence.

"What do you mean where do I go from now?" I asked puzzled.

"Well, you just told me how unhappy you are." He said as he folded his hands on the table. I watched his fingers, graceful and strong. Tells a lot about someone's personality.

"So?" I shrugged, "It's not that I can do anything about it."

"You can't?"

" Can I?"

"Well, I can't see why not."

I looked at him as if he'd completely lost it. "And what would you do then, if you were in my shoes?" I asked as I crossed my arms.

"You can confront your father." He stated simply. I have to tell you, I didn't like it that he treated my issues with that much… ease. As if he played it down.

"Confront him? You got to be kidding."

"No, I'm not."

"Oh then you're absolutely crazy."

He arched one of his eyebrows at my words. If only the guy knew what he asked me.

"So why am I crazy then? Is my suggestion that outrageous?"

I released a dry chuckle. "You have no idea what you're suggesting."

"What do you mean?" He asked confused.

"If you knew my father, you would know what I mean."

"Well I don't know your father so why don't you just tell me."

He looked at me piercingly as I eyed him. It was difficult to refuse him anything with those eyes. So I didn't, though I was very careful.

"My father doesn't tolerate retort if you know what I mean." I said eventually. "If I stand up to him, not only will it not work or have any effect or whatsoever, but I'm also stuck with a father who shouts and yells at me about how I should be obeying him because I live in his house. I just don't feel like that. I've had enough of that for the rest of my life. Keeping the peace is better in this situation than picking up a fight. It's just useless, nothing ever changes because he doesn't own his mistakes and acknowledge what he does wrong. He's the most obnoxiously stubborn man in the world and confronting just doesn't work. It never has. So why should I try if it won't change anything? It would only make me feel worse than I already do."

"And so you just let it go."

"And so I just let it go."

He nodded and looked at his hands. He didn't say anything, but just looked down with a frown on his face. His silence felt like he was disapproving my decision. I shouldn't worry about his opinion, he was a stranger to me, but somehow, surprisingly considering I was me and that I usually crapped on everyone's opinion, I did worry about his.

"You don't agree with it, do you?" I asked.

"I understand it." Was all he replied.

"But you don't agree with it."

"You don't need my approval."

"You're right, I don't need your approval."

"You said it."

"So tough for you."

"Tough for me."

The fell a silence between us. This time it felt awkward though. I felt like I needed to justify myself again. I'd rather have him saying flat out loud that he didn't agree with me and that I brought my situation all to myself because I've been passive, I'd rather have him have an outspoken opinion, however stupid it might sound. His discretion and consideration made me insecure about myself and my motives, which was way off! But despite my character that said 'who gives a shit about his opinion', I spoke up again.

"Listen," I said almost angrily, "you don't know me, you don't know my father, you're a stranger and that's what you are. I think I know how to handle this myself, thank you very much. I appreciate you're offered help, but it doesn't work, alright? And on top of that, think about what you've suggested. You're asking me to stand up to my father, but could you stand up to your own father the way you tell me I should?"

"No I can't stand up to him." He muttered quietly. "He's dead."

His words hit me with a bang. I forgot my anger immediately and a wave of sympathy went through me. I felt so sorry for bursting to him like that and putting his nose on the fact that his father was dead. But part of my sympathy was because I could relate to him. He lost a parent and so have I.

"I'm sorry for you. How long has it been?" I asked, as he had asked a while ago.

"It should be seven years now. But it feels like it was yesterday that he died."

He looked at me and I saw so much sadness in his eyes, which he tried to cover up with the smile he send me. He must have loved his father very much, as I loved my mother to death. I wanted to put my hands over his, soothing his grief as he had done with me, but I just didn't have the guts to stretch out my hand and touch his.

"I know how you feel." I mumbled in a small voice.

He sighed."It's tough."

"Yes it is."

"But that's the way it goes, I guess."

"Sadly I have to agree with that."

We didn't say anything for a while. I felt guilty for bringing up the subject, he just didn't know what to say more about it. There always seems to be almost a taboo on death. When it's brought up in a conversation, people don't know how to react to it, they feel awkward and wished they hadn't brought it up, like I did, because it only seems to cause more pain than death already has. Some people completely clam up, other people express their sympathy so excessively that it feels like they're treating you like a child. I didn't want to do either things, so I searched for words to continue our conversation. Fortunately for me, he beat me to it.

"But to return to our earlier subject, I really do understand you. I have a mother like your father. Dominant, intolerant, bossy. She'd bite my head off if I stood up to her. I wouldn't even dream of pointing out what she does wrong, it'd be the death of me."

I smiled at him as he paused. He smiled back. Something in my belly made a leap as I watched his handsome face.

"And I know, I'm a complete stranger to you. I don't know you at all and I know even less about your father. Who am I to tell you what to do? But the thing is, I see that you're feeling miserable under the whole situation. I just want to help you. And frankly, I want you to stand up to your father, so that he at least knows that you, his daughter, are aware of the fact that he's taking credit for what other people have done, so that there is a chance, however slim that might be, that he could actually change himself, despite his stubborn character, that you don't have to live with the guilt and shame he should feel. I know I can't expect this of you though. Things are more complicated and they can't be solved by a mere confrontation. It's just that… you know what I mean?"

He was adorable. "Yes, I know what you mean." I said, smiling. "I appreciate your concern and your aid. I'll consider what you said."

Of course I lied that last part. I already knew I wasn't going to confront my father. I think he knew that I lied as well, but he didn't show it as he was looking at me with warm eyes.

"So tell me about your mother." I quickly changed the subject. I had became quite curious about the woman he had described so humorously.

"Oh my mother is a great woman. And the most amazing cook. Really, eat one of her meals and you're sold for the rest of your life. Better than any restaurant could ever produce. She always puts my and my little brother's interests before her own, she wants the best for us. She stimulates me and inspires me, sometimes the hard way, but I'm grateful that she does. She's a real mother, even after the death of my father she stayed strong for us and never showed us her grief. I don't think she wants to put her issues on our shoulders and I admire her for that, though I wouldn't mind if she talked to me about it. I bet she needs that even more than I do."

The way he talked about her was endearing. With so much admiration and appreciation and love. It reminded me of my own mother.

"How did she cope with the death of your father, if you don't mind me asking."

"I don't. Well, my mother has been hiding her true feelings for years. She cried once, only once, when she just heard my father had passed away. From that day on, she's never shed a tear in our presence. But I know that she cries when we can't see her, when she had a moment on her own, like when she was hanging the laundry outside. When she returns she sometimes has red eyes, and I just know then, I just know that she's been crying. It's so difficult for her. Not only because she had to raise two sons on her own, and I assure you, my little brother and I have never been very easy, but also because she's forced to live without my father. My father was and remains till this day on the love of her life. And he will always be. I can't even imagine living without someone you love so absolutely and who can never be replaced by anyone. I think that she lost a part of herself when my dad died. Even though she's always cheerful, it's always with an edge of bitterness. You can just see it in her eyes. I wish that I could do something about it, or better yet, that I hadn't done stuff I did in the past. I always wonder… if I had done this and that, would he still be alive?"

I listened to his story with growing compassion for him. But when he said the last sentence, I didn't quite understand what he meant. I just assumed that he wrongly blamed himself the death of his father. Children often find a way to blame themselves for everything, and because I knew he must have been only a child when his father died, he probably did too.

"You really believe that you could have done anything about your father's death?"I asked.

Suddenly his mood changed as he heard my question. His expression became dark, as if I had reminded him of something terrible. I was taken aback his sudden change of mood. I never seen anyone be gentle and warm the one second, and gloomy and dark the other. It was startling.

He ran his hands through his pitch black hair and chuckled bitterly. "Oh wow, now I know how you must have felt when you had to be secretive about your father."

"What do you mean?" I asked puzzled.

He looked around a bit, as if he was looking if anyone could hear us, before he bent forward and brought his head closer to mine. Almost instinctively I bent forward as well.

"I have a secret." He muttered, almost whispering. I didn't know why, but it sent a shiver through my spine.

"May I know your secret?" I asked, ignoring the shiver.

"Absolutely not. But I'm considering telling you a part of my secret."

I waited silently for him to continue. I have to admit, I felt quite nervous. He was on his guard, his jaw was tensed and his hand was balled into a fist. It made me a bit anxious, but moreover suspicious.

"Can I trust you?" He asked me.

"Why are you asking me that?" I replied, trying to sound unmoved. "I'm only a stranger right?"

"Right."

He fixed his gaze from me to his balled fist. I followed his gaze. His fist was so tight that the knuckles were almost white. I watched him as he slowly opened his hand and saw the he couldn't keep it steady. It was shaking uncontrollably.

"Always have that when I'm nervous." He said as he tried to loosen his hand. "I've never told what I'm going to tell you to anyone outside my family."

I didn't say anything, but watched him as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. His tenseness made me feel slightly uneasy but I covered it up, partly for him and partly because of curiosity's sake. How shocking his secret might be, I was intrigued by it.

He finally settled his hand on the table and looked at it as if it was somehow amazingly interesting before he opened his mouth to say what he meant to tell. Whatever I expected him to tell me, I did not see his statement coming.

"I have killed my father."

When I heard that, all I could do was blink and stare at him stupefied for a while. I didn't know what to say, I didn't know how to react, I could just stare. He had to be kidding.

"Is this a joke?" I asked eventually.

"I wish it was." He said.

My mouth opened itself but I couldn't say anything. This guy in front of me, who was obviously avoiding my gaze by looking down, insisted the he had killed someone? He couldn't even look at me, probably because he would burst into a fit of laughter when he did. No, I couldn't believe it. I couldn't even fathom that he made jokes about such a subject. I was angry. I was disgusted.

"You listen to me." I muttered through gritted teeth. "Don't fuck with me, boy. Really, don't. I'm not the kind of person who appreciates that kind of sick jokes. If you think I am, then you're really talking to the wrong girl. I swear, one more of these pranks and I'm out of here."

"No don't, please don't go." He pleaded, before he moved his eyes from his hand to me. When I met his gaze, I was shocked by the despair in them. The anguish in his dark orbs, the desolation, the panic and the sadness… I had to admit that he couldn't play that.

"I swear it to you, I am not lying. I am telling you the truth… the honest, terrible truth." He looked at me desperately and I saw that his eyes didn't lie.

My heart skipped a beat when I realized that. I couldn't breathe. I felt the blood pouring from my face and I imagine I was chalk white, paler than usual. I told myself that he had to be kidding. But he was looking at me with the torment and the agony I could just feel in his body and the longer I watched at him, the more I doubted he pulled a prank on me. I couldn't say anything as I looked at his intense eyes, completely lost on words.

"I see that you're shocked." He observed. He couldn't be more right.

"I-I… you're serious." I stuttered, not wanting to believe him.

He bit his lip. "Yes I am."

What I hoped to find in his eyes was some humor, but I couldn't detect it. He was totally, perfectly serious. It scared me.

"A-are you sure that you… that you…"

"I'm positive."

There really wasn't any trace of humor in his eyes, voice, expression, body language. But despite that, I still couldn't believe that I was sitting opposite a killer. It just couldn't be, he had been so kind and gentle and caring. He would be the last person who I thought was a killer.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked almost in a whisper.

He looked down at his hand again and swallowed deeply. I could see the perspiration on his forehead and a stern expression was on his handsome face. He looked afraid.

"I wanted to tell my secret to someone outside of my family." He replied. "To have someone who is a complete outsider listen to me. My family doesn't understand. They avoid the subject and change it when it's brought up anyway. I have no friend who I can trust it with, I don't have anyone I can trust it with. And then you came along and told me about your secrets and I thought 'this is my chance'. I thought you'd understand. I'm sorry, I've made a mistake. I shouldn't have told you. But I swear, I am not dangerous, I'm not a serial killer, I don't want you to be afraid of me. It was an accident. It really was and that's the truth. I didn't know what I was doing. I was stupid, arrogant, I thought I could handle it, but I couldn't, obviously. I didn't mean to kill my father, I didn't expect that everything would go that wrong. I thought I had everything under control, that I could take the responsibility, but I couldn't, I was so young. It was an accident."

I couldn't miss the despair in his eyes or the breaking of his voice when he told me his story. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. I would have been sorry for him, but I was overwhelmed by all the true and raw emotions that he showed me. I didn't want to believe him, this had to be a joke. But something inside told me that he wasn't joking. I was blood nervous. He saw this.

"You're afraid, aren't you?"

"No." But I knew I replied too quickly.

He buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry." He muttered.

I didn't say anything. I just couldn't find the words. Yes, it was true, I was a bit afraid as I sat in the presence of someone who had killed his father. But then again, he was a child back then and he said it had been an accident. I felt mostly sorry for him as I came back to my senses. But that same senses wanted to know more, more than he already told me. I am a cop, what'd you expect?

"How did it happen?" I asked, trying to suppress my fear and to sound indifferent, but most importantly, to be calm.

"Can't tell you. You wouldn't believe me."

"Well, I'm already believing you, so why won't you just try me?"

He chuckled dryly because of the suggestion I made. "No, I really don't think it's a good idea to tell you. You couldn't handle it. I can't even handle it myself."

I nodded. Under normal circumstances I would have been prying and nosy, too curious to know what other people hid from me, but this situation was anything but normal, so I was glad to keep my mouth shut. I figured it was the wisest thing to do as well, not to push him but to press him gently.

"What happened exactly?" I asked making my voice sound normal and not shaky, something in which I probably failed because he looked at me worried.

"There was a situation of life and death. One small mistake could change everything. And I made a huge mistake. It changed the world, literally the world."

"What do you mean situation of life and death? I don't understand."

"I'm sorry, I really can't tell you that." He looked at me, begging me to understand it with his eyes.

I was confused and tore my eyes from his intense gaze, under which I couldn't seem to think. All kinds of scenarios went through my head, one more ridiculous than the other. He accidentally shot his father, he was in a drug gang, he killed him in cold blood, he was completely mental and didn't know what he was doing at the time, he was possessed by the devil. But one way or another, I was sitting across someone who had blood on his hands. No matter how young he was, how innocent and naïve his motives were, how much he told me it was an accident, he had killed his father. Under which circumstances I didn't know, but that he had killed was a fact.

"I don't know what to say." I said truthfully.

"You don't have to say anything. I can give you two options: either you walk away from me and you'll never hear from me again, or you can stay put and listen to what I have to say about it. Whatever you chose, I respect it."

Walking away sounded quite tempting. Not getting too much into it seemed better for me than staying, because I had my own issues, my own problems to worry about. But then, I just couldn't go. I liked the guy, despite the fact that he said he killed his father, which some part in me still found hard to believe. And he had listened to me when I needed a shoulder to cry on, no questions asked, no conditions. How could I leave him here in this state, even if I wanted to?

"Go on." I told him in a small voice. He seemed relieved that I would hear him out and he sent me a sad smile.

"I want you to know that I loved my father very much. And I still love him, even though he's not here anymore. My father was my everything, I wanted to be exactly like him. Never in my life I've known another person who was as selfless, as pure, as incredibly kind as he was. He stood for everything that was good, and he was real. He gave me hope and I believe him when he told me I could be as strong as I wanted to be, that I could be who I wanted to be."

He paused for a while. I saw the grief and the guilt in his eyes. I could be mistaken, but I thought I saw tears welling up.

"You know, I was very young when it happened." He continued with a voice full of emotions. "And when I realized it was because of me, I hated myself to the bone. I didn't want to live anymore knowing that because of my stupid mistake, my father has lost his life. But I couldn't leave my mother, who was pregnant with my brother that time. I didn't have the heart to do that. So I stayed, knowing that my mother cried because of the terrible thing I've done. She told me it wasn't my fault, that she didn't hold me responsible for anything, that I had been so brave, but I could hear he cry, I could see her getting bitter, I could see her looking at me. It's all my fault. And it really is, because it's not like I haven't been warned to not make the mistake I did. No, I have been. There have been plenty of people who tried to stop me. But I refused to listen. I wanted justice. But I didn't get it. Instead, I did injustice to the world by taking away a good man from its earth. And that thought is eating me out. My guilt feeds on all the dreadful memories and it's grown bigger and bigger every day. Until one day, I couldn't stand it anymore. I couldn't live in the house my father used to live, I couldn't walk the same floor my father used to walk, I couldn't do anything without thinking of my father. The house and all that was in it reminded me of my failure. I had to leave, I was going mad there. And so I did. A year after my father died, I left my home and roamed this earth like a tramp. I felt guilty about leaving me mother and my baby brother, but I also knew that my mother saw me as a burden sometimes. It was also better for her, so she could come to peace as well, like I could perhaps, so she could give it a place. I never imagined that she would be that heartbroken that I left. But I didn't know it at the time. I thought that she'd do fine without me. I missed her a lot. But I couldn't stay in that house. I went from place to place, working here and there to earn my stay in a room I rented, or sometimes I didn't so I had to sleep in the wilderness. Sometimes I couldn't even afford some food, so I had to collect it in the forests or catch some fish or rabbits and sometimes even a deer. But I was surviving. I managed on my own. And for a while I just survived, hardly living. But eventually even the soberness of my existence didn´t satisfy me anymore. I decided to pay old friends of my dad´s a visit. I thought that they would immediately let my mother know, who was worried sick, but despite the love they felt for my mother and how sorry they were for her, they respected that I made the decision I made to leave my home. None of them told my mother. But the conversations I had with my dad´s friends were something I really needed. They knew my father better than I had and told me things about him I would never have thought he´d done. But they also pressed that my father was so proud of me and that he´d whoop my ass if he saw me in the state I was in. That truly opened my eyes. They advised me to go home to my mother and forget about the past and to look ahead instead of back. But it was a huge step to return to my home. The threshold was so high for me and I was afraid to face my mother after what had been almost a year. After a few months I couldn´t stay away anymore though. I wanted to go home to my mother and I wanted to see my little brother again. I hadn´t seen them in over a year. When I returned, my worries had been unnecessary. When my mother saw me she immediately took me in her arms and she forgave me for running away. Home felt home again, and I never wanted to leave ever again. But even though I was home, my past has always followed me. I missed my father so much and I still couldn´t forgive myself. But I didn´t mention it to my mother. I didn´t want to upset her more than I already had. And I sensed that she really didn´t want to talk about it either. So I just let it be. And that´s how I´ve been coping with it for years."

When he was done with his story he took a deep breath of air and sighed it out in a long exhale. He loosened his shoulders and it looked like a burden has fallen off of him. I had listened to his story with unwavering attention. Never in my life I heard a story that exceptional. My fear for him had slowly disappeared and it had replaced itself for understanding. I felt incredibly sorry for him that he had gone through this, killing his father accidentally and having to live with that knowledge forever.

He looked at me and smiled, still a little sad. "But now I met you here." He continued. "In this cafeteria where I just wanted to get some coffee. And somehow you trusted me enough to tell me your secrets. Me, a complete stranger. And I trust you enough with my secret. I´m so thankful that you listened to me. It´s really unburdening."

I returned his smile. "It really is, isn't it?"

"Perhaps I can go on now. Perhaps we both can. For at least a while."

"I'm glad about that. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."

I said the truth, I really didn't think that he should be ashamed about anything. He looked at me with kind eyes, but I saw he didn't agree with me.

"Let's just leave it with that then." He replied.

I remained silent for a while. Of course I wanted to say more. Of course I wanted to know more, I wanted to know how he killed his father, under what circumstances, how it happened exactly. I was still a bit worried about that. Even though I found him very sympathetic and incredibly nice, he could be a mental case or a youth delinquent. But then again, it didn't really matter much to me. Whatever he was, I was glad that I had met him and that I could help him and that he helped me. It was really true, talking to strangers, whether it is a therapist or just someone in the bus, could sometimes offer comfort. What I first thought to be a load of crap turned out to be more true than I thought.

But when I heard the beeping sound of my watch, I couldn't believe how fast time went by. I didn't want to go yet, but when I looked at my watch I saw that it was already 08:10 and on the little screen was a little message that said 'time for school, Videl'. I sighed in exasperation.

"What is it?"He asked me puzzled.

"I'm sorry." I said. "I have to go."

"Already?"

"I'm afraid so. School starts in a few minutes."

I didn't rise from my chair though. I just looked at him and bit my lip, reluctant to go and stalling the moment until I had to leave the cafeteria. He looked disappointed.

"Could I…" He hesitated. "Could I see you again sometime. You know, hang out?"

He looked at me with hopeful eyes, his beautiful warm eyes. I wanted to say yes, I really did. Of course I wanted to hang out with him again, but I knew that that wasn't possible. Not after everything we told each other. I still didn't want him to know who I was and if we met again, he's bound to find out my name eventually. And how would things go from there?

"I think it's already too late for that." I replied softly.

He nodded and smiled, trying to hide his disappointment. He held my gaze for a while and despite all the terrible things he told me about himself, despite all the clouds that surrounded him and his past, despite the possibility that he could be a gangster or a nutcase and everything in between, I still fell for those intense eyes. After a while I tore my gaze away and chuckled shyly.

"Sorry that I have to leave you this suddenly. It was really nice to meet you, I had a great time." I said gratefully.

"It was really nice to meet you as well. It's been fun for as long as it lasted." He agreed, giving me a wink. To my dismay I started to blush. He chuckled but didn't say anything, he just looked at me with a warm expression.

Slowly I rose from my chair and searched my pocket for my wallet to pay for the coke and the tea. When I found it and got it out of my pocket, he reached out for my hand and lay his over mine. As he touched me again I felt a jolt going through my body. I looked at him again and saw him watching me with those intense eyes that made me all warm inside.

"Leave it, this one's on me." He assured me, before he flashed me his familiar crooked smile again.

How could I leave him now?

"T-thank you." I stuttered, still concentrating on his hand over mine. He didn't remove it though, and I didn't want him to. His smile faded the longer he looked at me, until he fixed his gaze on our hands. He stared at it for a while and I stood there motionlessly. I had the feeling that wherever we would both go, this wasn't a goodbye.

"Can't I give you my phone number?" He asked hopefully as he returned his gaze to me again.

I smiled. "No, I'm sorry." I was sure that I'd call him if he did and I didn't want that.

He nodded. "E-mail then?"

I laughed. He laughed too.

"Address? Zip code? Social security number? Anything, I'd give it to you." His lips smiled but his eyes were serious. I shook my head.

"Name then?" He asked for the last time, so hopefully that he almost seemed desperate.

Saying yes was very tempting. But I also knew that when I knew his name, he wouldn't be a stranger anymore. He'd be a friend. And even though I wanted him and me to be friends, it wasn't wise.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to go now." I apologized honestly.

He sighed and released my hand. I immediately missed the warmth of his hand. He looked at his coffee cup and I knew that he was disappointed. I couldn't believe that I was turning him down, but it was necessary. For the both of us. I wished it'd be different.

"Alright then." He muttered, before he looked at me again. "I hope to see you again sometime."

"I hope so too." I half lied. A part of me said it was better like this, another part told me I was crazy for going away like this.

Reluctantly I skated past our table. I stopped one time in front of him though. He watched me with surprise as he looked up to me. I hesitated but stretched out my hand and brushed his cheek softly with my fingers. It was amazingly soft and smooth, like a child's skin. It amazed me how beautiful he was.

I smiled one last time before I turned around and made my way to the door, leaving the handsome mystery guy behind me. I left the cafeteria with mixed feelings.

My common sense told me that I'd done a good job and made the right decision…

My feelings told me that I couldn't be more stupid.

* * *

**Well then, this would make a nice ending, wouldn't it? Should I go on, do you want more dramatique and misère and malheureusement? I am going to be merciless, sans pitié. If you like, tell me. If you don't, let me know too.**


	7. First Days and Second Meetings

**A/N: I decided to continue this story anyway thanks to a very intellegent reviewer who said that my summary wouldn't quite fit the story if I left it at the last chapter. Absolutely right, thanks for reminding me of that, Character Assassination. So we just continue then. **

**And I have a question, for those who are feeling bored or like to help me out here. I want Videl to sort of have a 'best' friend. And by that I mean a boy. But I'd like a character name with a nice pun. So far I've only come up with Justin Case (see it? see it?) If you have some ideas, let me know. It's greatly appreciated. Otherwise you're stuck with Justin Case. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, noppes, except for the poem. That is all mine so don't make me upset by stealing it. Unless you ask nicely you can. But I doubt you will... I think I've made my point now. **

* * *

'_Goodbye, adieu, farewell'  
Said to his mother the little fox  
And grieving to the ground he fell  
Never soothed again by gentle rocks  
Of her_

'_Goodbye, adieu, farewell'  
Said to his mother the little fox  
There was no one between heaven and hell  
He had loved so much  
As her_

'_Goodbye, adieu, farewell'  
Said to his mother the little fox  
Where he was he could not tell  
And on top of him fell all the snow flocks  
Missing her_

'_Goodbye, adieu, farewell'  
And leaving his mother did the little fox  
Not knowing where to dwell  
Forgetting the sound of ticking clocks  
Without her_

_Farewell. _

May you fare well.

I can't stand these farewells. I can't stand having the knowledge that I might never see someone again and that I might have to say goodbye to that someone forever. A lot of people have trouble with it. We just don't want to accept that all the people in our lives are come and go and that farewell is inevitable. Because the truth is, everyone will lose someone they dearly love. We want to live in that illusion that all the good things in life will never end, but they do eventually and it could be as sudden as a storm on a summer's day. I have experienced this. I took my mother and the fortune of having her in my life for granted. I thought that she couldn't die; it'd be a crime of humanity. For me, she represented all I wished to be and all that was good in the world. But then, so suddenly, so soon, so unexpectedly, her life ended. I couldn't say even say goodbye. And even though I know that I can't stand farewells, I would give anything if I could say goodbye to her for the last time. I can't hope that though, because it is vain hope. Of course my mother will never back. I will never see her again. But I never had closure. That is why I regret that I lived in my illusion, the illusion that she'd never die, and couldn't accept that life is unpredictable and death completely indifferent towards anyone, as it takes and takes at random. It's shit. It's life.

As I left the cafeteria I thought of this, I thought of farewells and goodbyes. Somehow it was difficult to just walk away like I did, having the knowledge that I would never see him again. I knew it was for the best, that this guy, who had gotten to close anyway, would come even closer would we meet again. There could be no mistake about it. There was something about him, I couldn't quite put my finger on it, that had made me trusted him in that cafeteria with all the issues I've been dealing with.This was weird, I never trusted anyone. Perhaps because I didn't know him, perhaps because he had a nice aura, perhaps I had been too weak myself, but I told him and now I had to stop letting my heart deceive me and think for once, let myself be guided by my common sense, my rational mind, which never let me down. I had said my farewells and now I was ready to go on. Meeting him had been helpful, but now we had to go back to living again. And that was just it, that was all about it. But in the back of my mind, he was still there.

I am a fool indeed.

Goodbye, adieu, farewell  
Man of great mystery  
For you I crawled out of my shell  
Will you remember me?

Yes, I thought he would remember me. I was convinced of it. I would remember him as well. Whether he really killed his father or not, which some part of me still had a hard time believing, he was exceptional. If things were different, if I wasn't Videl Satan, we could have been friends. This was another reason why I despised my name so much.

I skated over the broad pavements of Satan City. No one recognized me because of my hood, fortunately. People were avoiding me, calling after me to 'watch it, punk', but I hardly noticed. I looked to the ground. Had he walked here before, where I was skating now? Perhaps I saw him before even, or walked past him on the streets. What a funny coincidence. You meet people every day, you give them a quick glance but you ignore them, you don't even notice them. Any person could be the one you are looking for. Any person could be the one you meet again. Any person could be the one that just… does something to you, who moves you. And yet you miss all that, you will never know because you and that person are strangers. And will remain strangers. How many people in the world could be true friends of mine? Hundreds, thousands, millions perhaps. And yet, I'll never meet them, I'll never know them. They will always remain… strangers. They unaware of my existence, I unaware of theirs. How peculiar when I think of that now. What a waste of fine friendships. How unfair.

But then, the cliché is true, life isn't fair. It's proven that so many times to me that it is almost a personal mantra. Who was I kidding? Life is purely indifferent. It doesn't favor anyone. Any luck is just dumb luck, nothing personal about it. And that makes it all the more unfair. I could dedicate my life to something that is good, and still I could be just as unfortunate as the next person. Or fortunate. It doesn't matter. Having the father I have has been a very unfortunate event, meeting that stranger in the cafeteria had been fortunate. But hey, who am I to question the bigger plan of the universe?

Fact is, just as long as I am unfortunate, I'll have a scowl on my face and when I receive some fortune, I'll smile… for a short time.

And for a short time this morning, I smiled, because of him. I had been happy. It was these moments that kept me going. I love these moments. These tiny fragments that define happiness. I am grateful.

With this smile, a modest curl of my lips, I crossed the city, until I found myself approaching the fancy neighborhood where my house was. Gradually the happiness I had that morning slipped away and some sort of dull grayness crept over my being. I always felt gray when I approached the house. The house with foundations that doesn't rest in safety but in lies and deceit. It was nothing to me. But I still lived there, to my dismay. There was all my stuff and right now I needed school stuff. I went through the front gate and pulled off my skates in the garden again.

When I went inside, I hoped I wouldn't see my father. And as I ran up the stairs, I thought I had a lucky day. Entering my room, I grabbed some things together. Pencils, notebooks, a Mars bar, calculator, a novel – this is a strange habit, I always carry a book to read with me to school; you never know when you get bored – a bottle of water, my cell phone and a CD I promised to copy for a friend of mine. I stuffed them all in my backpack and just ran to my door again when I heard a voice.

"… you do, sweetcheeks? Oh, that's nasty. You are a bad girl. Who's your daddy? Say that again. Again. That's the way I like it."

I rolled my eyes as I saw my father walking past my room with a phone in his hand and a disgusting grin on his face and… drool. Ew, drool. It was then that he noticed me and turned his ridiculous face towards me.

"I'll call you back." He whispered through the phone as he eyed me. He cleared his throat. "That was the cancer association." Apparently he completely believed his lie. I just shook my head in contempt.

He looked at me from tip to toe, critically. Maybe he saw that I've hardly worked out during the summer. The guy has a special sense for that. But he didn't say anything about it.

"Don't you have to be in school?" He questioned.

"Well, don't you have to pump some muscles. I am going now."

"You really want to go like that?"

I looked at my clothes. Still the baggy shorts and the oversized sweater I had worn earlier this morning. I frowned. "What's wrong with it?"

"Well, you forgot your shoes." He pointed at my feet and I realized that I, indeed, wasn't wearing any shoes. "I think you might need your shoes."

"I KNOW…. I need my shoes." I muttered through clenched teeth, the blush of embarrassment on my cheeks. "I'll just get them now."

Greatly aggravated, and slightly ashamed that I wanted to go to school in just my socks, I chose a pair of trainers from my collection and put them on, which took me a while because I was so frustrated by that cartoon moment. When I approached the door again, my father was still standing there, as if he was waiting for me.

"You want me to give you a ride?" He asked.

For a moment I was pleasantly surprised by his offer. Then I realized that it probably was for publicity. 'Oh look, the great Hercule brings his daughter to school! Isn't he amazing! A great fighter and a good father as well!' Yuck, I could hear the people saying it already.

"No thanks." I replied and wanted to walk away, but I was stopped in my motions when my father lay a hand on my shoulder.

"It's already 8:25. You'll never make it to school in time. If I bring you, you'll at least be excused."

"I'm Videl Satan, daughter of the _man who saved the world_. I'll be excused anyway." The words came out more venomously than I had intended, but my father didn't flinch a bit. Not even when I put strong emphasis on 'man who saved the world'.

"Is this a bad day?" He asked.

A bad day? Oh no, papa. It's a bad life.

I didn't answer though, but crossed my arms in irritation. The seconds were flying by and I would be… indeed, late.

"Just let me bring my only child to school, alright sweet pea?" He tried again.

I sighed and gave in eventually. "Sure, whatever. But only if we take the Royce." Because that one had tinted windows. Who could see my father then? And I would probably be earlier in school than if I went walking… Unless if we'd be stuck in a traffic jam.

Unfortunately, a few minutes later we were stuck in a traffic jam. In the back of the black Rolls Royce, my father was enjoying a beverage and some soft chamber music as I sent Erasa, a friend of mine, who shared many classes with me, a text message that I'd be coming later and if she could tell that to the teacher, whoever it was with whom we had the first period.

Grunting I put my mobile pack in my pocket and crossed my arms as I looked through the tinted window. Traffic jams are so vexing. Especially when you don't have some nice company in the car. I couldn't even talk to the driver.

"Videl?" My father's voice asked.

"What?"

"You look scrawny. Have you worked out this summer?"

See! What'd I tell you?! Special sense...!

I turned my head to my father. " I have been working out."

"But not as much as the schedule demands." He countered as he took a sip of his drink.

"No, but it was summer."

"Not in your schedule."

"Fuck the schedule."

"Videl!" He looked at me slightly angry. "What did I tell you about that… that word. We don't say fuck and most especially not you. What if the paparazzi hears it? You have to have a good reputation, otherwise you can never be as popular as me. Always be eloquent and you'll win the crowds over."

Now I was getting furious. "Father, where the HELL is the paparazzi right now? That's right, they can't hear us, they can't see us, they can't smell us, they can't do anything right now. So please allow me to say fuck when it's about a fucked up schedule I don't give a fuck about!"

"Young lady, you be respectful towards me. I am your father, not one of your friends." He yelled through the car. I so badly wanted to retort but I knew I couldn't win my case, so I just shut it and sulked. Can't even say fuck. Who doesn't say that these days?

We were silent for quite some time and I listened to the soft piano music. We were finally moving in the jam again. If I was lucky, I'd be in school within the hour. Great, just great. What an impression that would make:being late for the first class of the first day of school of the last year. Oh boy.

"Videl, do you still follow your schedule?" My father asked after a while. I sighed. The man just couldn't let it go.

"Yes, only during the summer I didn't take it that serious." I replied. I was lying. The schedule my father made for me required me to work out for five hours a day and double the amount in the holidays or during the weekends. It was insane, no human being in the right mind could go on with that. Because I had no supervision, I just bailed sometimes. It was too easy and much more fun to read a book or to do some school work or skate for a while.

My father grunted. "You have to take it seriously, Videl. You can't slack off, it could cost you your life."

"Yes father."

"And jeopardize many lives."

"I know."

"You always have to be the strongest you can be.""

"Sure."

"And you have to work out to maintain the strength you have now. Otherwise you will never be like me."

As if I wanted that in the first place.

"You are the guardian of the city. And that creates some responsibilities."

"Yes father, I am fully aware of that and I think I can handle those responsibilities, thank you."

He glanced at me sideways as I said that. "You don't seem as enthusiastic about martial arts as you were before. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing." I lied. Of course it wasn't nothing. I used to be so fond of martial arts. It was my life after my mother died. I wanted to be the strongest, like my father. I really looked up to him. But when I found out his secret a few years ago, the interest for martial arts gradually wore off. The magic was gone. It wasn't exciting anymore, because the illusion that I could take on Cell myself after a while, if he were alive that is, just wasn't there any longer. I could never be as strong as the monster or the mysterious warriors. Why kid myself into believing that I could? No, martial arts was no longer my passion. It had become a duty. To my father, to the citizens and to myself.

Apparently my father didn't believe my answer as he looked at me suspiciously. "Do you still like martial arts?" He asked.

"Of course I do." I lied again, avoiding my father's eyes by gazing through the window.

"Good, because it's all arranged. You are to inherit the dojo one day, when I am ready to enjoy my retirement. The dojo has been in the hands of Satans for centuries and we have to keep it that way, no outsiders. And Videl, you are my only child. You have to continue the family tradition. You'll have to lead the dojo. And your children after you, and their children after them. Do you understand?"

I stared at the people walking on the pavements. "Yes father." I replied blankly. I didn't even have the energy to oppose him over this. How do you tell your father that his precious daughter doesn't want to continue the work your ancestors had started and paid for with their blood, sweat and tears?

"Then that's settled." He continued, not even detecting my tone. "You are lucky you can make your passion your job."

I sighed. Oh so lucky. I leaned with my forehead against the cold glass of the window. The glass sent a soothing coolness through my body. I watched the people outside. They couldn't see me, they didn't know I was in here. They just walked on as if there was nothing special going on. Suddenly I felt anxious as I thought of how I was stuck in this car just as much as I was stuck in my life. No one could see me through the tinted windows, no one knew who was inside the car. They could only admire the flashy Rolls Royce, the ultimate symbol of decadence. I was trapped. In this car, in my life.

What would that mysterious guy who I met this just morning say of this predicament? He would probably say that he wished I'd confront my father.

I glanced at my father for a sec. He was sipping from his drink and didn't notice me watching. I turned my head towards the window again. No, I couldn't say it to him, I couldn't say I didn't want to continue with the dojo. I knew exactly how he would react. They would hear him on the other side of the world, saying that I had no choice. Control freak. And that was exactly something I didn't need right now, on my first day of school... stressful enough if you ask me. No, I had to say this at the right time, the right moment. Unfortunately, that moment had never revealed itself so far.

We were silent for the rest of the way to school. I was too much sunken in my own thoughts and my father in his, though I doubted that he was struggling with dilemmas as severe as mine. The car pulled over right in front of the school. It was a large building, the largest high school in town, with the highest student results and the highest standards of education. Basically, it was one of the best schools in the country. 'The best deserve the best', is what my father always says. That's why he put me on this school; Orange Star High. I don't like school. So surprising for an adolescent like me. But it's not the school I hate in particular, I hugely detest all the people that go to Orange Star High. My classes are interesting though. It offers me a challenge and something different than working out day in day out in the burly macho man world where I actually belonged.

"So do you need me to come with you?" My father asked as I was about to step out of the car. "You know, to explain why you were late?"

"No dad, that's fine. I'm okay." I replied. Of course he wanted to come with me. So he can make the blitz in front of all my classmates. No, I'd rather pass for that.

I waved to my father over my shoulder and slammed the door closed before he could argue with me and as fast as possible I ran over the stairs of the entrance and into the school, which halls were uncomfortably vacant. When I was in those empty halls, I suddenly remember I didn't have my schedule yet. Scolding at my watch, which indicated that I was over half an hour too late, I made my way to the administration. Mrs. Haki, a small, kind woman in her forties, with kind of a thick-set figure, which, I knew, came from all those four pregnancies she went through, was just telephoning when I appeared in front of the counter. She looked at me from over her glasses and made a gesture that she'd come soon.

"Uh huh, uh huh," She mumbled through the phone. "He's sick? On his first day of school? Hmm, what a surprise."

I smirked when I heard the mild sarcasm in her voice. I like people who can use sarcasm.

"Alright then, I hope he gets better soon. Yeah. Yeah, that's contagious. Yeah, poor boy. Well, make sure he hands in a note with your signature when he returns to school. Yeah, to me. Alright? Okay, have a good day, and make him drink a lot. Yeah, I have four kids of my own, I know all about it. Been there, done that. Yeah. Bye."

When Mrs Haki hung up, she released a sigh of frustration, before she turned to me.

"How many so far?" I asked as she approached me.

She wiped her forehead with her hand. "Six like him. It's like everyone has a belly virus these days. Can you believe it?"

"Well, it _is_ contagious, isn't it?"

"Sure, and suddenly everyone gets it on the first day of school. What odds..."

I smiled at Mrs. Haki. "I'm late."

"Yeah, so I see." She said as she looked at me through her small glasses. "Community service again?"

"No, I was stuck in a traffic jam."

"Why would you be in a traffic jam? Don't you always walk to school?"

"I do. But my overprotective father with an ego that has its own life always takes the car."

Mrs. Haki looked at me puzzled when I said those words.

"My father brought me to school." I explained, before I saw realization dawning upon her.

"Well then, here's a note." She quickly put her signature on a piece of paper. She had something with notes. "And give that to your teacher. Everything should be alright then."

"Thanks but...who's my teacher this hour?" I asked sheepishly.

"Videl, you know your schedule is on the school website." Mrs. Haki said with a mothering tone. That's what you get when you're a mother of four.

"Yeah, but I forgot the check it this morning." I responded.

"Shall I make a print for you then?" But before I could say 'yes please', she was already at her desk, visiting the school website to make a print of my schedule. A few seconds later I already had it in my hands and after thanking Mrs. Haki I made my way to the first class, or what was left of it.

First class was English. I had to be in classroom 102 on the second floor. Once I reached the classroom, I gently knocked the door and opened it, meeting the faces of thirty students and one teacher as I walked through the door.

"Miss Satan!" My teacher, Mr. Orwell, exclaimed pleasantly surprised as he saw me standing in his classroom all of a sudden.

A bit embarrassed I walked towards him, thirty pair of eyes following my every move. "I have a note here." I said as I gave him the piece of paper.

"A note? Oh, how lovely." Some people grinned as he said 'lovely' in a thick English accent and I couldn't suppress a grin either. For a few seconds Mr. Orwell studied the piece of paper with the curly signature of Mrs. Haki on it, before he flashed me a bright smile.

"Perfect. Miss Rubber already mentioned you were running a bit late." Yes! At least Erasa was in my class. "Now here are your books..." He turned to his desk and took two books, a textbook and a workbook, in his hands and pressed them in mine. "And now take your seat. Go on, sit down somewhere."

I quickly scanned the class in the hopes of finding Erasa, Sharpener or anyone else I liked or, at the least, could stand. Fortunately I saw a pair of familiar blue eyes and bright blond hair and a hand shooting up to wave at me. I could recognize that bubbly smile anywhere. I smiled and made my way to the empty seat next to Erasa, at a table in the back of the class.

"Thanks for covering up, Rase." I whispered to her as I sat down next to her.

"No prob girl." She muttered as she turned to me. "Where were you?"

"Oh, my father brought me to school because I was running late and we got stuck in a traffic jam."

Erasa looked at me with an arched eyebrow. "You? Running late? Was there a bank robbery somewhere this morning or something?"

"No, I was just running late." I lied. I wouldn't tell her about the encounter with Mr. Handsome in the cafeteria. One, I wouldn't hear the end of it, two, I'd have to mention every little detail, from the clothes he wore to the space between us to his exact facial expressions, and I, three, wasn't the kind of girl who enjoyed that kind of conversation. So I wisely decided not to mention His Mystery to the girl who was one of the biggest producers of gossips in the entire school.

She shrugged, before she began to babble about her summer vacation. I tried to listen, but with her talking 200 miles an hour I only caught 'amazing', 'hottie', 'beach', 'bikini', 'shopping', and, after what felt like an hour, 'what about you?'

"My vacation?" I asked and she nodded. "Well the usual. Working out, working out, working out and...oh yeah, more working out. Exciting isn't it?"

She blinked at my kind of sarcastic reply. "You only worked out?" She asked.

"You know my father." I muttered. "He made me a whole damn schedule. I swear, he's the reason I'm so pale, I didn't see the sun for one second."

"Yeah Vi, I was already wondering why you haven't tanned up some."

"Of course you wonder that, but now you know why."

We talked a bit about going to the beach sometime, she almost demanding me to go with her so I could get a nice tan, me excusing myself with the busy schedule. That came in handy after all. I already imagined what going to the beach would be like with her and I will politely decline any opportunity to dart around half naked in a skimpy bikini on a beach full of drooling losers watching every patch of skin, especially the big patch on your rear.

I don't know exactly how we got to it, probably because she said 'but there are so many hot guys on the beach', but she quickly changed to subject to a, for me, completely unrelated subject.

"Oh my god, Videl. Did you already see the new student?" She asked with brightly glittering eyes.

I rolled my eyes. "Let me guess... He's cute?"

"Cute? Cute?" She hissed almost angrily. "That's an insult to someone like him. He is GOR-geous, completely and utterly gorgeous. I swear Videl, if you see him, you'd be totally into him as well. Like every other girl in school."

"Me? 'Totally into him'?" I chuckled. "Come on Erasa, don't you know me better than that?"

"Oh spare me the tough-girl act, Videl. Just because you haven't met a perfect and handsome guy before doesn't mean you wouldn't be into anyone of the male sex. Seriously Vi, people think that you're a lesbian if you keep acting like a cold bitch towards any guy who wants to get close to you."

I turned my head towards Erasa and looked at her with amusement. "People think I'm a lesbian?"

"Well, what did you expect? You've met the hottest celebrities around and you've never been impressed by any of them. Makes me wonder.. Will you ever be impressed by any guy?"

I smiled at that question but didn't reply. If only she knew, if only she knew that I had been impressed indeed by a guy this morning. And not in the least place by his looks.

Next to me Erasa sighed. "I'm going to ask that guy out."

"Good luck. Hope you're the lucky girl who wins over his favor. Since every girl in school is totally into him."

"Oh I will win over his favor, you can count on that." Saying that she had a determined look in her eyes. I had no doubt that she could get him to like her. She had an amazing talent to flirt and if that didn't work, she had her amazing rack, which no man could ever refuse.

"So who is this guy anyway?" I asked. "Is he in our year?"

"I don't know, I only saw him as I passed him in the hallway. But I'll find out soon enough who he is. I'll show you who he is during lunch break, 'kay? I swear it to you, he is HOT!"

I grimaced. "Sure, whatever you say."

The rest of the hour Erasa was drooling over the thought of her next prey and I took some notes from whatever the teacher said. I kind of felt sorry for the new guy, having all those hysterical girls all over him, and not in the least place because he's caught Erasa's eye. She might be into him right now, it usually lasted not longer than a few weeks before she moved on to her next victim. He'd either be left extremely relieved, because she could be quite annoying, or extremely heartbroken, which has happened often enough before.

After a while the bell rang and first class was over. We packed our stuff and moved on to the next classroom, until we met another friend, Sharpener. He was running his hand through his blond locks when we met him down the hallway.

"Hey Videl, how are you doing?" He asked me with a smooth voice and a cheesy smile as he wrapped one of his arms around me shoulders.

I rolled my eyes. "A lot worse now."

Aggravated by my reaction he released me. "Geez, what is it with all the chicks today? Is it the time of the month for all you girls this week?"

My hands itched to slam his face into the nearest wall.

"Sorry Sharpy." Erasa said with a bright smile. "We're just not into you that much."

"WHAT?! Not into me huh?" Sharpener burst all of a sudden.

"Yeah, I heard there is some fresh eye candy." I muttered. "Sorry, but apparently you just aren't that interesting anymore."

Sharpener looked at me with a horrified expression. "Who is this guy?"

Erasa immediately jumped on that question. "Oh, he's amazing, he's..."

I decided that I didn't feel like hearing this all over again from Erasa and turning my back towards them I made my way to the next classroom, them following me as they argued along about the new guy. This continued for about the entire hour and the next. The hours dragged on as I listened to their uninteresting argument for half of the time. Though seeing Sharpener bursting with anger when he heard about the new guy was kind of amusing.

After numerous arguments, various insulted silences on Sharpener's behalf, many giggles from Erasa and three classes, three teachers and several pages of notes written, lunch break was finally there.

The three of us made our way to the school's cafeteria, Erasa hopping up and down from excitement as she would see the object of her infatuation again, and Sharpener following us with an expression of his face that made me wonder if he had a short-term depression out of the blue.

"Ladies, I am going to leave you for now." He announced to us before we reached the cafeteria.

"You going to check your make up?" I joked. Erasa burst into a fit of giggles.

"Be sure to pick your eyebrows too, Sharpy."

"Haha. Aren't we nice today." Sharpener muttered through clenched teeth. "You girls know I always work out during lunch break."

"You don't want to see your competition?" I asked.

"Hmpf, I hardly have any competition. He'll be forgotten in a week, when he's not so new anymore. And then you'll all come crawling back to me."

He made an exaggerated gesture with his hand through his hair and made a dramatic exit as he whirled round, his long locks sweeping over his shoulders.

Erasa and I looked at each other and burst into a fit of laughter.

"Wow, he really got his feelings hurt, hasn't he?" Erasa asked between the giggles.

"Well, it had to happen sometimes. At least now he won't walk on high legs through the school as if he owns the whole world. This is better for him."

"And for us."

"Yeah, especially for us."

We continued the conversation about Sharpener and his offended pride as we walked towards the cafeteria. When we entered it, Erasa immediately ceased our conversing and she looked round feverishly. I had never seen her this hysterical. And not only her. The entire cafeteria seemed to be swarmed with girls who looked, or rather drooled, at a particular someone.

"There he is!" Erasa hissed in my ear. "Look, there. There!"

"Erasa, cut it out."

"VIDEL! There!"

I rolled my eyes and followed her finger, which she pointed to the direction of one single table with several girls around it. I stared at the back of what seemed to be the guy everyone was so crazy about.

"Videl, don't look so constipated!

"Look, what is your deal? He's with his back towards us." I said in irritation. But the moment the words left my mouth, the guy turned around, looked in our direction and before I knew what happened I looked into his eyes.

I froze immediately. It felt as if everyone around us disappeared and the guy and I were the only ones in the cafeteria.

That same handsome face, those same dark orbs, that same black hair. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized him.

It was him. It was _him._

There, between all those hysterical girls, in our school cafeteria, in _my_ school, was the guy who I had met this morning. As if he belonged there. As if he'd been there all along.

And he recognized me too. With a shocked expression he returned my gaze.

What were the odds...

What were the odds?

Next to me I could vaguely distinct Erasa's voice. "Handsome, isn't he?"

I couldn't even find the words to reply.

What were the odds?

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **


	8. Denial For Self Preservation

A/N: I couldn't resist posting this. I was going to save it to have it posted later, but I just didn't have the patience.

New character: Justin Case (sorry, but everyone uses Marker, it's become a cliché... I would use the brilliant name Ben Doverand Takeit (at the suggestion of General Blackout, thanks by the way) but Marvel Comics owns it and I don't want to write a longer disclaimer)

Disclaimer: Justin Case is mine, all mine, and nobody touch him or I'll bite your head off and use it as a punch bowl... :)

* * *

You know that feeling you get when you forget to study for a test? Or worse, hearing from a classmate that you were supposed to study chapter four and five instead of six and seven only minutes before the test would commence? Or when you lose something essential, such as your keys or your cell phone? In other words, when you're in deep shit? Well, take that feeling, multiply by ten, and you'll get close to the way I was feeling right at that moment.

He looked at me. I looked at him. The shock was reflected in eyes. Obviously he couldn't believe either that we would meet here, in this place, in Orange Star High. Of all places.

I tore my eyes away from him and feeling blank I walked to the counters. My hand was on automatic pilot as I started getting my food. I told myself that this wasn't happening to me. Not in school. Not here. Please not here. I told myself that I had been hallucinating. He couldn't be here, he looked much older than a high school student. He was what? Twenty? Twenty-one? Too old for Orange Star High. In fact, I was sure I was mistaken until I turned around and took a glimpse in his direction and saw that he was watching me. This was for real.

The shock I felt when I saw the guy I met this morning was bigger than life. To see him there, in my school, completely blending in with the crowds and the people around him was so unreal. He didn't belong there. He shouldn't be there. Him being here crossed the boundaries I set for myself. In school, try to be invisible. In school, no personal affairs. In school, be objective, be distant, don't let anyone come closer than self-preservation demands. No one, and most certainly not in a private place such as the school where gossips were the order of the day, was allowed to see my vulnerability. It was a personal policy. Him being there in _my_ school, sitting in _my_ cafeteria, conversing with people from _my_ daily circumstances, was a violation of that policy on itself.

Panic froze my heart. He knew all about me. My biggest secrets. All that I never told anyone. And he knew them. I imagined what he could do with it. He'd know soon enough that I am Videl Satan. Everyone in school knew. And when he knows this vital information, he'd know who my father is. And if he knew that, what would stop him from spreading the word that Videl Satan doubts her father's victory over Cell? From telling the world that my father is a fraud?

Panic made place for fear. I realized that I had done something very stupid this morning, in confiding a stranger with the harsh truth. I put my delicate life in the hands of a strangers who could change everything by just stepping up and revealing me to the world. Even if no one believed him, my reputation, my father's reputation, my family's reputation, the already little trust between me and my father, was at stake. I was so fucked.

Then another thought crossed my mind. Something I hadn't given much thought because I didn't believe it was true. Someone who killed his father sat there, at a table in my school. I knew he said it had been an accident, that he didn't mean to do it but… you know, still. I didn't know under which circumstances his father died, all scenarios were possible. He told me I wouldn't believe him anyway…

Or had he been afraid to tell me?

Did he accidentally cause his father's death, or did he murder him? There is a huge difference between the former and the latter, a difference that could make him either innocent or guilty of manslaughter.

Then again, he didn't tell me how his father died. He didn't trust me with that information. That suggested that something may have happened, something along the lines of… murder perhaps?

I hadn't really cared before that he was the reason his father was dead, if he was even the reason at all. I thought I would never see him again, thought that this was one of those 'far from my bed' stories. But now, everything was different. The truth about me and my father was in the hands of someone who says he's killed his father.

I sauntered aimlessly through the cafeteria, my mind on more important things than finding a seat at one of the tables. My gaze returned to the table I began to avoid. He wasn't watching anymore. In fact, he was talking to Erasa.

Oh my God…

Erasa…

My friggin best friend!

Oh God, with him! A potential murderer! The things she could tell about me. Everything he needed to know. Name, date of birth, address, phone number, email address, class… I realized a coldness was surging through me as I thought about what that meant.

I wanted to go there and drag Erasa away from him before she brought me in the conversation, which was likely to happen since it was not the first time she mentioned she was 'Videl Satan's best friend'. But the prospect of standing face to face with _him_ was… not something I wanted. Especially not now. Preferably not at all. I was a coward, afraid of the confrontation.

His voice came from far. It was faint and vague. As if he stood on the other side of the cafeteria. When he snapped his fingers in front of my face, I realized that someone was calling my name.

"Hello? Earth to Videl?" He said, emphasising every word. I looked at the spectacled face of a boy my age, slightly taller than me, lanky and wearing clothes that could fit a man twice his size.

"Justin!" I exclaimed surprised. He was one of my 'out-crowd' friends. He was quite a nerd, but so refreshing after a few hours of 'in-crowd' people.

"Ooohh, so she is awake!" He joked. "I was looking at you while you were wandering the cafeteria like some sort of semi-dead corpse for a full five minutes and I decided to be the hero and save you from embarrassment. You were really attracting an audience."

"Oh, I didn't notice." I looked around and indeed, a few people were staring at me weirdly. After receiving a scowl from me they quickly returned to their meals. I turned to Justin again.

"Thanks." I muttered.

"No prob. Wanna sit with me today? I see the blond is occupied by the new kid."

I smiled. "Sure."

He returned my smile and made his way back to his table. I took this opportunity to take a glimpse at the Mystery Guy. He was looking at me with an expression I could not place, and seemed to be for a while now. When my eyes met his I quickly looked away and fixed my gaze at the ground. But I wondered… It seemed as though he had followed the conversation I had with Justin, but he was sitting on the other side of the cafeteria. He couldn't have heard us, could he?

"Videl? Are you coming?" Justin said as he walked a few steps before me.

I was woken from my train of thoughts. "Yes." I replied wearily.

"So how was your summer?" Justin asked as we sat down at a vacant table.

I shrugged. I didn't really feel like talking. "It was okay."

"So what did you do?"

"Nothing much."

"Nothing at all?"

"I did some things."

"What things?"

"You know… stuff."

"Ahh, stuff." Justin bemused. "Sounds exciting."

"It couldn't have been worse."

"Worse than what I've been through?"

I arched an eyebrow. "What have you been through then?"

Justin sighed. "Boot camp."

"That sucks."

"It was horrible. Exercise and healthy food all day. Having my underwear pulled over my head at least twice an hour. Finding snakes or frogs in my bed almost every night. And of course I suck at sports, so I was made fun of by all the kids and half of the instructors every time I threw a ball or ran a track. It was hell on earth, I can't believe my parents sent me there."

"Yeah, sounds like a party." I muttered absently. My gaze wandered to the other side of the cafeteria far more often than I consciously noticed.

"So… How were your first classes?" Justin eventually broke the silence that had been lasting between us.

"Hmm, you know."

"Do I?"

"It was okay."

"You noticed they replaced the computers?"

"No, not really."

"Well, you will."

What followed was a full five minute explanation on how good and advanced those computers were. MB, GHz, RW, GB, whatever, he all mentioned it and every feature of the new computers was given a thorough analysis. I found it hard to pretend to be listening. My gaze was drawn to the table Erasa and the Mystery Guy sat at. Erasa was chatting and giggling and subtly touching his arm every once in a while. He actually seemed to be listening to her. He nodded and looked at her whenever she said something and sometimes he made a comment, though he didn't say much. I didn't like it.

"So what do you think?"

It took me a while to realize I was asked a question. "Sorry?"

Justin was staring at me with an offended expression as he noticed that I wasn't really paying attention to his story. "Have you been like this all day?" He asked.

"Huh, what?" He caught me looking at something else. He frowned.

"I mean, you're not even listening to me. Your mind is somewhere else. Have you been like this all day?"

"No, no. It's just…" I hesitated. No, telling him was not an option. "You know what, never mind. Sorry I wasn't listening."

Justin didn't look pleased yet but his frown had become less evident. "Geez, no wonder the blond is sitting over there with Gohan. Sorry to say it, but you really are an ass today."

"Who's Gohan?" I asked puzzled, ignoring his last statement.

"He's the new kid." Justin said as he looked at my Mystery Guy. I followed his gaze. So his name was Gohan.

"How do you know his name?" I enquired.

"He was sitting next to me in geometry class. He's a nice guy. Smart too."

I didn't know what it was, but I wanted to know more about him. About Gohan. All of a sudden, Justin had my full attention.

"So he's nice huh?" I asked.

"Yeah, very. Only a bit oblivious."

"How so?"

"Well, you know Angela right?"

"Yeah, she's in my history class."

"She made a pass on him. Or at least, she tried. It was so obvious, even I noticed it. But Gohan didn't."

"Sure, Angela has to jump on the newest arrival right away." I said with resentment.

"And she's not the only one." As he said that he looked at Erasa and Gohan, the former who was still chatting to no end and the latter who was still listening patiently. I looked at them too.

"They seem to be enjoying themselves." Justin muttered.

"They sure do." I tried to sound indifferent, but actually it disturbed me that they were getting along so well. I just didn't want Erasa to be talking with him.

Justin turned to me again. "How many boyfriend has she had again?" He asked.

I frowned at him."How should I know?" I replied in a harsher tone than I had intended, before I fixed my gaze on Gohan and Erasa again. I didn't know exactly how many boyfriends Erasa's had. There were many, many guys who were fortunate or unfortunate enough to call themselves her ex. But this didn't concern me. What concerned me was the suggestion behind Justin's question. It suggested that he would be the next boyfriend. And I didn't like that idea. My best friend with a killer. My best friend with someone who was potentially dangerous. My best friend with someone whose company I had quite enjoyed.

That's what I told myself… then.

I didn't want Erasa to be with him. Period.

But as I thought that, Gohan suddenly looked in my direction and our eyes met. His expression was grave, yet curious. He stared at me for a while with this expression, as if his interest was sparked by something I had no idea of.

And then, I knew. I knew why he was interested all of a sudden.

I quickly averted my gaze. He was bound to find out, I had known that from the beginning. Being silent about it was only postponing the execution. But still, it was real now. I couldn't change it anymore. There was nothing I could do now.

Erasa's told me who I was. I was sure of it. He was still watching, observing me. He had to know that I was Videl Satan. Why else the sudden interest?

I gulped. Now, I was really fucked.

* * *

My next class was Latin. Justin and I left the cafeteria while Erasa and Gohan were still chatting. Justin parted from me in the main hall. He had to go to geology.

I sauntered my way to the classroom, my mind on other things than my next class. I felt so miserable. The whole day was just one big drama. I had made a terrible mistake in confiding a stranger with the depths of my heart and now I was facing the consequences. I only hoped that Gohan was really as nice as Justin claimed and that he kept my secrets our secrets. But then, the papers and magazines would give him mountains of gold if he sold them this story. He'd be filthy rich in one time. All he had to do was call a national news paper or one of those magazines I wouldn't even use as toilet paper or filling for the cat's box, if I even had one, and he would receive a sum with six zeros on his bank account.

This was so hopeless. I wanted to cry. This was the first time I wanted to throw all that toughness I protected myself with in the wind and the first time I willingly wanted to cry like a baby. In fact, skipping class and sobbing in the girls' restroom was very tempting.

But I realized that was ridiculous. I wasn't a baby. I didn't cry. I'd just keep my head up, whatever happened. It was tough to be tough though. Only one tiny thing had to happen and I was sure I would burst.

Thank god for Latin. No one chose Latin. That is, no one of 'significance', meaning the 'in-crowd' avoided that classroom with all their might. That's why I chose the subject. And it was nice be in a classroom with people who were actually interested in the class. Latin was purely optional, so people consciously chose it because they liked it. As for me, I learned to like it.

When I entered the classroom a few people were already in their seats. I took a seat next to the windows and stared to the world outside the classroom, outside the school for a while, trying to think of something other than my dilemmas. I looked at the old oak in the middle of the schoolyard, but wasn't really looking. I was staring, without seeing. Thinking too much about everything.

The rest of my classmates had finally found their way to the classroom as well and seated themselves where they always sat, chatting busily with friends about vacation and the first day of school. This I liked too, most of them left me alone. Unlike others, they got the message.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken." Someone asked me. I sighed. Someone didn't get the message.

I turned to the person who was talking to me and wanted to tell him to piss off, but it wasn't just a person who was talking to me. It was Gohan. He was looking at me curiously and he smiled, though something about his attitude suggested that he wasn't really comfortable.

"So is this seat taken?" He repeated as I didn't answer. I was too busy gawking. Slightly embarrassed I nodded and took my bag off the other chair so he could sit. With a lean movement he sat down next to me.

I started to panic a bit. I didn't know what to do. What to say. How to act. What was I to do? Talk to him? Ignore him? Look at him? My mind was overflowed with these questions. And yet I didn't want to make a move. I didn't want him to sit next to me. He knew the things I didn't want him to know. Potentially he was a killer. I didn't want him this close to me. But I didn't have the heart to tell him to piss off. I couldn't do that after all what happened this morning.

I wanted to cry again. This time not because I felt sorry for myself, but because I felt completely and utterly powerless.

But crying… no, not an option. I just decided to stare out of the window. To ignore Gohan. He seemed to ignore me too, he hasn't said a thing to me either.

The teacher, Mr Tucca, entered the classroom at last. I almost released a sigh of relief, because having to listen to him meant not having to talk to Gohan. The teacher was my saviour.

He held a boring speech about this year's activities. We'd study Seneca and Tacitus, the former a philosopher, the latter an historian, which would be 'a breath of fresh air' after Ovid and Virgil, whom we had studied the year before.

"And we also have a new student I see." Mr Tucca exclaimed with enthusiasm. I felt Gohan tensing.

"Mr Son, I presume." Mr Tucca said jovially. Reluctantly Gohan rose from his chair.

"Yes, Mr Tucca. My name is Gohan Son." He stated.

"Tell us something about yourself, Mr Son."

I may have mistaken, but I think I heard him groan.

"Well, there isn't much to know really. I just moved in with my aunt and uncle in West City. I commute here every day."

Mr Tucca looked at him for a while, until he realized that that was all Gohan had to say.

"Alright then." He said. "Did you have Latin before?"

Gohan nodded. "Yes sir."

"Have you done Ovid and Virgil before?"

Some started to chuckle at that question. Gohan didn't notice though, he replied confirming, causing more chuckles and grins and meaningful glances the other classmates passed each other.

"Have you done Seneca and Tacitus before?" The teacher asked, not being aware of the small uproar in the classroom.

"I had some of Seneca, but I've never done Tacitus."

Some of the classmates could not suppress their laughter anymore when that answer was given. Mr Tucca, who didn't understand the tumult, silenced them by yelling 'silencio!' through the classroom. They stopped laughing but most of them kept grinning.

I just rolled my eyes. Get some humour people, instead of laughing over banal jokes. My eyes wandered to Gohan, who watched the whole scene with a puzzled expression on his face. It seemed like he didn't understand the 'joke'. So Justin was right… He was oblivious.

After the teacher said he could Gohan sat down in his chair with a sigh. The teacher began to hand out the books. I my eyes remained on Gohan, who was staring at the table top. It was strange, he seemed so different from this morning. So tense and nervous. Not at all laid-back. He was still gorgeous though, I had to admit that. No wonder all the girls in school were all over him.

In a sudden act of arrogant boldness, I finally spoke to him.

"Tired of the introduction talk already?" I asked.

He turned his head to me and looked at me surprised. He gave me a small smile. "I had to do it five times already. Half of the class already knows everything about me, from my hobbies to my phone number."

"Phone number?" I asked with an arched eyebrow. "Have they been that eager?"

"I might need a new number." He chuckled. I couldn't help myself, I smiled too.

There was a small moment between us. I forgot all the issues and dilemmas and felt at ease, like I had this morning with him. God, he was so incredibly handsome when he smiled like that. It was warm and comforting in a strange sort of way.

"How've you been?" He asked as he looked into my eyes.

"Okay." I replied. "And you?"

"I was surprised when I say you just now. In the cafeteria."

I smirked at him. "You were shocked."

He laughed heartily. "Surprised and shocked. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." I agreed.

"I didn't expect to see you at all, ever." He said meaningfully. He looked at me intensely, I felt so weak under his gaze, yet something fluttered in my tummy.

"So I thought you were a student." I quickly changed the subject as I felt I was blushing.

"Well, I am a student, aren't I?" He countered.

"Yes but… you know, a college student."

"Oh? Why would you say that?" He asked.

"You just don't look like you're a high school student."

"How's that?"

"You just don't have the…" What was the right word? Clothes? Hair style? Age? "… attitude."

He stared at me for a while, considering what I said. "I guess you're right. I've never been to an actual high school before."

I looked at him baffled. "What? You've never been to high school?"

Gohan grinned at my face. "No, this is the first time. I was home schooled for most of my life."

"Oh wow." I muttered surprised. "Well, watch out for the girls."

A curious expression appeared on his face. "They're dangerous?"

"Very." I nodded.

"Including yourself?"

Was he challenging me? "I'm more dangerous than them." I replied.

He flashed me a crooked smile. "How so?"

"Well, do you know Sharpener Pencil?"

"No."

"You will. And when you do, you better ask him the question you just posed me."

We looked at each other intensely. I watched his face. He was giving me that gorgeous crooked smile I liked so much. His eyes were smouldering.

"Mr Son, Miss Satan, class has already begun if you haven't noticed."

We finally tore our eyes away from each other and simultaneously we opened our books.

The class dragged on for the rest of the hour. Normally I liked Latin, I was fascinated by it. But now I could not concentrate on the texts in the books. My mind constantly drifted off to Gohan, who, surprisingly, seemed to follow every word the teacher said. He had an amazing focus as he was even able to jot down notes. Sometimes he glanced at me and the tension was evident again. And when I glanced at him, he always met my eyes. And when he did, my concentration, or what was left of it, disappeared like snow in the sun.

Finally, after an hour, the bell rang, the class had ended.

I started to pack my bag and to cram my books between all the junk I took with me to school. I was fighting with my bag when I noticed Gohan was standing next to me.

"Videl?" He asked.

I froze in my motions and looked at him surprised. He said my name.

"Erasa told you, didn't she? My name I mean." I began.

"Yes." He replied.

"What else did she tell you?"

"Practically everything."

I sighed deeply. "Look Gohan, my father…"

"Hercule Satan." He added.

"Yes, that one." I replied wearily. "I was upset this morning. I didn't really know what I was saying. I didn't mean it. I was just being emotional. First day of school and all. You know?"

"Oh." Was all he said. His eyes pierced mine. There was no doubt about it… He didn't believe me.

"It's just… I have no one to talk to about these things." I explained. "And this morning you listened. And when I told you about my father, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. And I started thinking how stupid I was for believing my father lied to me. I want to thank you for listening to me. It made me realize some things about myself and my father."

Gohan looked at me for a while. His eyes were darker, but him lips were smiling. "Well, I'm glad about that. You're very welcome." I didn't miss that even though his message was positive, his tone was negative.

Who was I even kidding. I didn't even convince myself with my own lies, let alone someone else. But denial was the safest option right now.

"Look, let's just forget about this morning." I suggested. This was so wrong, so retarded. And from his expression I could tell he thought so too. He looked disappointed, his eyes were harder than before. This was wrong. But it was the best thing to do.

"Alright then, if you think that's the right thing then I trust your decision." He replied. There was a suggestion in his reply. I knew that this wasn't the right thing, he knew that too. And he knew that I knew. This was so complicated. Was telling the truth not a whole lot easier?

We stood there for a while. Neither of us knew what to say. I didn't look at him. I didn't dare after my lies.

"Beautiful weather." He commented as he looked through the window.

"Yes… Yes it is." I replied, before I walked past him and made my way to the next class, away from Gohan, away from confrontation, not knowing what he really wanted to ask me a few minutes ago.

* * *

R&R, my dear readers

By the way, does anyone know where Gohan lives? I mean, the exact name of the place? I'd much appreciate respons to this question.


	9. It Happens Every Day

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm sort of back with this story again. I received such a nice review from KylePK and I'm all inspired again (thanks KylePK!) It put me back on my place again, I think I would be a very hated person if I abandon this story. So, laziness gone, inspiration here, and I wrote this.

Note: I know some people really want me to hurry up and get on with the story already (read: Romance... you just want romance, don't you?), but even though this story is really, really romance, it's also about Videl. I want to explore her character and some events, and there will be enough Gohan, but you're gonna have to wait for the real romance part. But I hope you're liking the road to it so far. I certainly do.

* * *

_It Happens Every Day_

I walked on the streets of Satan City. My city. I loved it. And I hated it. But despite that, it was probably the love of my life and not, as many people might believe, because it carries my name, but because in Satan City individuals are invisible. I can walk the street anonymously, because no one has any attention to someone other than themselves. People don't care about others, they only care about themselves. It's typical for this age and it manifests itself the best in a city the size of this. And I hate it much, but on the other hand I do benefit from all the selfishness. I walked on the streets of Satan City and I could. Alone and in my private world and no one took notice of me. In these streets, I probably had to most privacy. It was contradicting that I loathed the selfishness and individualism of the citizens of the city, and yet it gave me something that was so precious for me. There's a fine line between love and hate, and where the city's concerned, I constantly crossed it. So I walked across the tall buildings, the shops and restaurants, through the park and over the white pavements, musing in the privacy of my thoughts. What I mused over? I bet you can guess. His image was still in my mind. It summoned in me a warm feeling in my stomach, but also a sort of embarrassment that I couldn't get him out of my head. I thought about my decision.

Some people may find it difficult to understand, but my decision to keep Gohan at a distance was really the nicest thing I could do for him, although it seemed and even felt wrong. I knew that had I let him cross the boundaries I set for myself he would eventually be disappointed more than he was now. After all, he might have gotten attached to me. And being pushed back when you feel something for a person hurts more than when you're being pushed back from the start. It didn't seem nice, but the intentions were good. It was for the best. For both of us. I don't think I'm capable of keeping a friendship so involved and so complex. Especially not with someone who knows so much about me already. It's like I constantly need to be prepared for a rejection, because he might not like the real me. That's the pain of friendship. People can choose to end it, so there always is the possibility that you'll lose a friend. Any day. Any time. I'd rather not be rejected. Rejection puts you in your place again, brutally. It was not something I was waiting for. And certainly not if I can help it.

I looked at the sky and the warm rays of the sun caressed my face. It was indeed a very nice day, lovely weather. It soothed me some. At least the weather was okay. But I couldn't help but take an occasional glance at the ground and see my shadow. Erasa tells me not to be negative all the time and instead of seeing the worst in a situation to see the best. It's so naïve. Like there's a good thing that could come out of this situation. But she wouldn't know that, she's not like me. Compared to my life, hers is so incredibly simple. It consists of school, boys and being home in time. Not that I'm being a snob now, I wish I had that kind of life so that makes me different from other snobs. I wish my life was simple. But the fact that it isn't is probably the reason why I'm so negative sometimes. Or all the time. An optimist is merely a badly informed pessimist. If they'd live my life, they'd be negative too.

Suddenly I heard beeping as I walked through the park. I looked around to all the people who were there, running, relaxing or just walking. A frown appeared on my face. No one bothered to answer his beeper. It's so annoying. It's like the people who call in the train and think they're the only one there. But the more annoyed I became, the more people looked at me annoyed. I thought it was because the people around me and I had a mutual understanding, since we were both irritated by the beeper of an unknown person, until I realized that the people were irritated with me. And I almost became angry with those people. I didn't even have a beeper.

Or wait… I have.

The blood rushed to my face and I blushed a bright crimson as I brought my watch, a 'gift' from the chief of the Satan City police department – so I would always be available to them… I hate functional gifts -, to my mouth. Walking away from all the people in the park, the chief officer's voice cracked through the device.

"_Videl. We have an emergency."_

"What is it, chief?" I asked.

"_A hostage. At kindergarten The Rainbow._"

"I'll be right over."

A kindergarten! Which fucking moron has the nerve to take hostages at a kindergarten? Angry with the audacity of criminals these days, I got a capsule out of my pocket. Within one second and the next, a bright yellow copter appeared in front of me, with _Videl Satan_ in bold letters on both sides of the copters. As the people around me pointed at the copter and exclaimed their awe for seeing the real Videl Satan, I hopped in and took off from the ground.

Five minutes later I arrived at the 'crime scene'. I looked forward to a good round of kicking some butt, to vent all my frustration of the day but it seemed harder to get it that I thought. The site attracted quite some spectators. I saw crying mothers, angry fathers, boys, girls, random people who just passed by and looked at the scene with horror or interest. There were crush barriers everywhere and plastic ribbons to keep people at distance. Cops were walking to and fro, talking to their colleagues through radiotelephones. Press was everywhere, every news station had a couple of reporters there. It was nothing less than what I'm used to.

The chief officer filled me in on all the recent developments. Apparently, the criminal was Han Dover, an escaped convict who was sentenced to prison for 18 months for attempted murder of his ex-wife. He took seven children hostage, including his own child.

"Why would he do that?" I asked the chief officer.

"He wants custody of the child. He knew his chances were legally very small of ever being a part of the kid's life." He answered.

"Yeah, they sure are small now. So what's his ultimatum?"

"A copter and a free escape for him and his child by the end of this afternoon. Otherwise, he'll kill them all."

"Including his child?"

"Yes. Before he'll kill himself. You have to be careful Videl. These children are not older than five."

I frowned. These were the most difficult cases. When the lives of others are at stake, you can't make mistakes. Any wrong decision could be fatal. Every move has consequences. But I had done cases similar to this one before. I could bring it to a good ending again. The only thing that concerned me were the children. Children, especially as young as these, are very unpredictable. That could turn into a disadvantage for both sides. I had to watch my steps.

Two cops chose to accompany me, since I could not both disarm Dover and protect the children. We agreed that only I would made my presence known to Dover, as to not give him the idea that he was being pushed in the corner. I knew it was important to people like Dover that we were not threatening him but that we were taking him and his ultimatum seriously. Did we not, he could shoot at random to prove that he meant serious business. It happened before that we underestimated people like him.

The classroom he used to keep the children hostage was at the second floor of the school, which was a very good move, since the police force was unable to invade the classroom now through the windows. I bet Dover has given this some thought. Not surprising, it was his kid's school. We took the stairs and crossed the empty halls. When we found the classroom I called for Dover.

"Han?" I asked as I gestured to the others to keep themselves pressed against the wall. "I'm Videl. Can I enter the classroom?"

It was very important to use front names and to address him with his front name. Otherwise, he'll think I'm just another person and he was more likely to shoot me. But apart from that, a person is a person when it has a front name. Had I said that I'm Officer Satan, that wouldn't have addressed his sentiments. Using front names gave the suggestion that we were equal human beings. He was more likely to listen to me if I gave him the impression that we were equal.

"Han?" I called again. "I'm alone. Can I come in?" I waited for a reaction. The longer the silence lasted, the more anxious I became. Eventually, his curt answer reached me.

"Why?"

"Because I can help you." I said.

Another silence. I looked at the other two cops and pressed my finger against my lips.

"Do you have my copter yet?" Dover replied after a while.

"We should talk about that, Han."

"If you haven't got my copter, I won't let you in."

He sounded decisive. I cussed under my breath. The cops offered me their guns, as I always chose to go unarmed. I shook my head at them. I had to try something, use words to persuade Dover that his plan is doomed to fail from the start instead of violence. I came up with a little plan.

I gestured the cops to stay at their places and to keep quiet, before I slowly walked to the broad window next to the door that gave passage to the classroom. The cops almost wanted to intervene but I gave them one of my ferocious scowls and they kept their distance. Through the window I had a clear view at Dover now, and he at me. He sat there in a small circle with the children. The children were fine. They didn't understand the gravity of the situation and I suspect they even liked the man who took them hostage.

When my eyes met Dover's, he paled. Immediately he pulled a young boy to his body and put a gun to the child's head. He rose from the ground as he looked at me with a furious look. My eyes examined him. I recognized him from somewhere. As if I had seen him before. But then, he looked like any other man. He had a clean and shaved face, though it was a little sweaty, his hair was short and tidy, he was slightly overweighed. Nothing suggested that he was a prison customer. If he had crossed me in the streets, he would not have attracted my attention. The only thing that stood out, though not extremely, were his clothes; his plain white shirt and brown pants. It suited him more if he wore neater attire, but as he came freshly out of jail, I wasn't surprised by his clothes. He was completely normal, as is the case with many criminals.

"I'm unarmed." I said before he could yell at me for making an unexpected move. I turned around with my hands in the air so he could see I told the truth. I even pulled up the hem of my shirt so he could see I wasn't hiding a weapon anywhere. His expression changed from furious to suspicious. He still hold the child firmly to his body.

"Let's talk about this, Han." Pressed calmly. Cautiously, I brought my hand to the door handle. His expression became hard again.

"Stay back!" He yelled.

"It's easier to talk like this." I said.

"We have nothing to talk about. Give me my copter or I'll kill them all!"

"No one is going to get killed today, Han. We can talk about this. You don't want to hurt the children. I don't believe that." As I said that my hand pushed down the door handle and I opened the door. He pressed the gun harder to the child's head. The child didn't seem afraid. How could he after all? He didn't understand what was going on.

Carefully and slowly I entered the class room. Behind me I heard the cops hold their breath. They thought I was taking a great risk, but my intuition told me that Dover would not shoot anybody as long as I stayed calm and reasonable. My intuition has always been my strongest guide and it had never failed me before. Dover was following my every move with his eyes.

Once inside, I kept holding my hands where he could see them. Now I'd managed to enter the classroom, I had to gain his trust.

"I am going to keep my hands in the air, Han. Now, release that child."

"Don't tell me what to do with my son!" Han yelled. I looked at the small boy who stood there fearlessly in his father's arms. He looked at me curiously. I had to try something. Quick.

"That's a lovely fellow you got there." I said as I smiled at the boy. "I bet he's very bright."

Han didn't reply. He only looked at me with a dirty look. Good. This was a good reaction. Everything was better than anger at the moment.

"I have a cousin that age. They say this age is the most enjoyable for a parent." Alright, sometimes you have to sell a little lie for a good cause. I didn't have a cousin that age. But if I could get the children free, I'd lie about everything. Kami would punish me for it later. And it worked, Dover's face softened a little and he looked at the child. I was on the right track. I just had to get through to him.

"That's why…" I continued. "…I can understand why you're doing this. It's a precious child. And you don't want to miss him. You want to be a part of his life, don't you?"

The man didn't react. He just pressed his boy closer to him.

"And your wife… Your ex-wife… She doesn't allow that, does she?" At this stage, I was purely guessing, following my intuition as I always so. But I think I hit the nail on the head. Dover looked very tired and exhausted all of a sudden. He was stroking the boy's head.

"But Han, this is not the way. You know that. When we release you and your boy, we will have to catch you later anyway. It's unfair, but we have to. Do you understand that? What you did was wrong. Understandable, but wrong. You can't keep all these children here, they have to get back to their parents. And you and your son have to get back too."

"But then I have to give him back to her." Dover said weakly. I was surprised by his vulnerability. I was even moved to see him like that, with his child against his body. Anyone could tell that he loved him deeply.

"Yes, but for now we don't have a better plan. Don't spoil your chances, Han. Or she might decide to cut him from your life forever."

"Or I could kill him."

Damn! No! Fuck! This was not my plan. I said no killing, so there won't be any killing. I had to stay calm, stay reasonable, but it was so difficult. How could someone even _think_ about killing his child?! It was just beyond me. I became angry, but tried to suppress it. Luckily I succeeded.

"You're not going to kill him." I spoke calmly.

The man looked at his son with a desperate expression. "Why shouldn't I? All my ex-wife and I do is fight over him. We don't deserve him. He deserves better parents."

"You are a good parent." I almost yelled. "You'd do anything to have him with you. Look at what you've done, look at the effort you've made for him. My father wouldn't even make such efforts for _me_!"

The words escaped my mouth before I knew it. I was shocked that I had uttered them. Dover looked at me confused. I swallowed. That had been a very stupid thing to say. Even though Dover was a good father, he was still a criminal. And criminals are unpredictable. You never know what they could use against you. So stupid to make this personal with that remark.

"W-what I mean… You love your child." I continued. "I can see that. Even if I was blind, I could still see it."

That was a nice save. I seduced him into a sad smile, though not a word of what I said was lied.

"What can I do other than killing him? I'll never see him again after this. And I can't live without him. I just can't." He said with tears in his eyes.

I felt it was safe to approach him slowly now. Step by step, as I watched Dover's reaction intently. He didn't seem to mind. He just looked at his child.

"What's his name?" I asked, referring to the child.

"Ben." The man replied.

"Think about Ben. Not about yourself, not about your ex-wife, but Ben. Look at him and tell me… Is this not a child who deserves to live? Whether it be with you or your ex-wife? Is this not an innocent child, who has a bright future when you give him the chance? You must let him live, Han. Give him life. Give him life again. He deserves it. You know that, Han. Give him this. If this is the last thing you could do for him, then do it. Do the right thing."

A tense silence filled the air. I felt the sweat on my forehead. He was still stroking the child's hair. It didn't look like he was going to answer. Right before I wanted to open my mouth to persuade him with another argument, Han looked at me with tears in his eyes.

"She took him away from me." He cried. "I wasn't allowed to see him. She always cancelled our dates so I could never see my boy. And then she met that stupid gnome, his new daddy. His new daddy! She wanted to form a new family with Ben and that asshole. He took my place. I was so mad. And I fought with her. She yelled at me. She said I was a terrible father. That I wasn't allowed to see him anymore. Only because I had some alcohol issues in the past. And then she gave me a knife. She provoked me to stab her down. I didn't want to, but she kept yelling at me and provoking me. I didn't mean to stab her down. It's because she offered me that knife! And now I lost everything. I lost Ben. And everyone is thinking I'm the thug, while his mother is really the reason why all of this happened. I lost my little boy. I lost him."

By now the tears rolled over his cheeks. He looked terrible as he sobbed there, holding his child against his body. The boy said something to his father I could not hear but there appeared a wet smile on Dover's face.

I was moved by the man. I realized that these kind of stories happened every day. That fathers just have less rights than mothers. I heard about this but I've never given it any attention before. And now I saw one of these fathers whose world tumbled down because he wasn't allowed to see his son anymore. And all I could think was… It could be like this. It really exists. A father fighting for his child. Fighting to be part of its life. Doing everything, giving up everything for his child. And… And my father… I suddenly saw what I knew all along.

My father is nothing like this father.

Nothing.

"Listen…" I said, trying to suppress my tears. "… we could come to an arrangement with his mother. So you can see him. So you can be part of his life. But you have to turn yourself in, alright? You have to hand over your gun, come with me and go back to prison for a while. Before you ruin it all. I promise you, if you turn yourself in, I'll make sure we're not going to try you for this. You'll sit out your 18 months, we're going to get you someone to talk to about this and I will do anything in my powers to make sure you can see your son regularly. Do you hear me, Han? You still have a chance. I'm offering you a hand. Take it, alright? Take it."

Han looked at me. His expression was hopeful, yet still suspicious. He couldn't believe the chance I was offering him and didn't know whether to be happy or wary.

"Han, put down the gun." I pressed.

He doubted as he looked at his son. Ben smiled at him. I guess that's what did the trick.

He released his son, bend through his knees and put down the gun, before he put his hands in the air, behind his neck. With the tears of joy rolling over his cheeks he laughed at his boy. A sigh escaped my mouth. The bands of sweat were on my forehead. This was definitely not good for the heart, but I was satisfied and proud that I had pulled it off again. A weight fell off my shoulders after I brought this situation to a good ending.

I smiled at Han and wanted to walk towards him to get his weapon and lead him outside. But his laughing died quickly and his eyes widened as he looked at something behind me. Horror stood on his face. I, surprised by his sudden change in demeanour, followed his gaze and saw my two colleagues appearing behind me, their guns in clear vision.

No!

I looked at Han again, but he had already jumped forward. He stood there with the gun in his hand.

"You lied!" He yelled. "You lied to me!"

Oh no, please no. Not the child.

An ear-wracking shot…

Everything was silent…

A fraction of a second, time stood still…

And then the horrible seconds that followed it…

… But it was not the child he shot…

I looked down at my waist, where a deep red stain grew bigger and bigger on my shirt. I slowly moved my gaze from the growing stain, not comprehending what happened to me, to Han, shocked beyond believe. His face, his horrified face, was the last thing I saw before I fell down.

… He shot me.

* * *

You know those dreams that you walk down the street and everyone is looking at you and suddenly you realize you're naked? You had that dream before? Yes? Good, then you know what I'm talking about.

Everyone was laughing and making rude comments. I ran and ran… naked… trying to get away from the crowd but the street just didn't end. Everyone was looking at me. I told them to go away. I covered my intimate parts with my hands, but I did not have enough hands to cover it all. I only had two and that was not enough. I felt so embarrassed.

And my father, standing in the middle of the crowd, was laughing the hardest. It brought tears in my eyes. Everyone was looking at me and making fun at me. I couldn't escape. I couldn't go anywhere.

Why wasn't anyone helping me?

All of a sudden, I saw Gohan standing between the crowd. He was smiling at me gently, the way it comforted me before. Ashamed of my body I made myself small and covered as much as I could with my hands and arms. He approached me, I looked down under his gaze. I could cry from embarrassment.

But I felt something soft around me. It was a towel. I looked up and saw Gohan sitting beside me. He gave me a towel. I looked at him and was seduced by his smile.

Then he put his hands around me neck and strangled me.

I died.

* * *

OMFG!! Isn't this a cliffy or what?! I could end it this way. No, don't worry, I'm not even half way.

If you like, leave a review!


	10. Mother

A/N: It surprises me that there aren't many diverse takes on Videl's mother on this site. From every story I've read, she is the example for every mother. But what if she was not? That's the concept I worked with. This was so extremely difficult to write and perhaps you can notice, because I have the feeling it's not a easy to read as the other chapters, like it's difficult to get through. Well, try anyway, you might like it. I made the most of it.

Disclaimer: Videl's mother is mine. The rest you can steal, but please be original and don't copy my Videl's mom.

Note: Don't you agree that Erasa is someone who would pierce her navel? And that Videl has more family than just her father?

* * *

_Mother_

You know how dead people are always remembered better than they actually were? Like they suddenly are the kindest people in the world. Or purely good. Or the best friend one could have. Or the most loving parent a child could wish for. One has to be really evil if he's not remembered better than he actually was. He'd have to be a child molester, a tyrant responsible for the deaths of millions, a betrayer, the killer of a popular figure. If the dead has done something unforgivable, he will never be forgiven at all. He will be remembered forever as an evil, cruel person, not worthy of living. Then everyone says he deserved his death.

It's strange… Saying that some people deserve to die. Like we are in a place to judge about that. I remember a widely criticized politician. He spoke out his opinions blatantly, insulting many and irritating even more. Many people wished him dead, because he was spreading hate and fear among different groups of people. He was loved by a small group of extremists, but hated by the majority. Until he was murdered because of his extreme views. All of a sudden, the politician was a hero. He was the person who said what everyone thought. He told the harsh truth. He was an advocate of freedom of speech. He was even voted second in the list of the ten greatest heroes of all time. People admired him for the same reason they once detested him. All of a sudden, he didn't deserve to die. What the hell? I mean, I wouldn't wish the guy dead, but doesn't that seem too much honour from the people who loathed him initially? What, in essence, has really changed, apart from his death? Had he not been killed, he would have been the same, widely criticized politician, loved by only a small group of extremists, hated by the majority.

It seems that death, especially a sudden death, has such an enormous impact that it shakes our perspectives and could lead to a 180 degree turn in our opinions. People we didn't like before are not so bad after all. Good friends become better friends. Hate is a strong word after all to describe the emotion one bears for another. It's like a tradition. Just like we believe we're not allowed to say bad things about the dead, because then you're heartless, then you have no feelings, then you have no respect.

Respecting the dead is one of the corner stones of our society. Sometimes it seems as though we're taking it to such a ridiculous level that we forget the things about the dead we didn't like and remember everything we _did_ like and everything that _was _honourable and likeable. Isn't that a big character destruction? It makes me wonder how I will be remembered. Maybe they'd call me the bravest person they ever met. Or the best friend (!) imaginable. Or even purely good. And I'm serious, if they'd remember me like that I would twist and turn in my grave from disgrace. If there'd be anyone who says that or something like that at my funeral, I'd arise from the death and personally whop him from here to the moon and back. I want people to honour me for who I am, and not because they feel obligated to honour me. But that's just it I guess. These days it's respect for the dead because they're dead, and not because of the person they are. Huge character destruction.

I'm a hypocrite. I really shouldn't talk, I do the same with my mother. She was the best mother in the world. Also such a cliché, because, in fact, she was just another mother. My mother, yes, but not the best parent. I also remember times she wasn't as good as a mother as I remember her now. She was not exactly a loving woman. She was cold. Hard. Some might even have called her heartless while she lived. And I can't blame them. I'd rather not hear it, but sometimes she really appeared heartless. Like she just couldn't care about the feelings of others. And she wasn't particularly kind to me, not like any other mother would be. I remember her as a strong, honourable, good, but cold woman.

Perhaps that coldness is because of her past though. She's been through quite a lot and I suspect she never really learned to cope with everything that's happened to her. My grandmother died when my mother was ten and my grandpa focussed on his work to forget about the death of the woman he loved. He completely forgot my mother and my uncle. He really thought that it had no consequences for his children. If he had, I'm sure he would have gotten himself together and taken the responsibilities of a parent. Two parents, actually. The job of not only a father, but also a mother. He would have done it. I knew my grandfather well enough to say that. If only he'd known what to do back then…

My mother took care of herself ever since there was no one who could take care of her. Ten years old is young. And as my uncle left home to go to college, she was really on her own. She took responsibilities too high for her age. She cooked her own meals, she did her own groceries, she did her own laundry, she washed her own dishes, she cleaned the house, she called someone when the TV was broken, she did everything on her own, because my grandpa hardly ever was home. He left early in the morning and came home late at night, neither times at which my mother was up. There were intervals of sometimes weeks between the times that they actually saw each other, and when they did, it was only very briefly. It didn't help either that he travelled abroad a lot for conferences. He left my mother alone to fend for herself basically, leaving enough money behind for her to do everything she liked. Not that it helped. Money is not love and what's the worth of money anyway when you have everything in the world except the things that can't be required with money? The poor man couldn't help it. He had a broken heart and everything, even his children, seemed insignificant after grandma died. He was a very confused man, who, unfortunately, refused to accept help. If that isn't a family trait, then I'm not a snob.

When my mom became an adult and when she could see everything from a different perspective, she started to blame him for his absence. Blame him for all the years he missed. They never talked about it. My grandpa was too ashamed to talk about it and my mother was too proud to bring it up. As a consequence they never made up. Their relationship has been rigid and difficult for as long as I could remember.

Mama was often alone in the three years after grandma's death. Whenever she needed someone, she didn't have anyone. Yes, she had my uncle, but he lived on the other side of the continent. He'd sometimes come home for the weekend, but because the travelling was so time consuming, those trips were very limited. And loneliness is quite lonely. When my mother came home from school, she wasn't welcomed by anyone. No one asked how her day was, no one was waiting for her with snacks, she didn't even have a pet that could give her the love she craved so much. She was allergic to their hair. It's a pity, because she always wanted a dog. I remember walking with her in the city park and her looking envious when she saw dog owners walking their pet.

"_At least dogs love you unconditionally. They don't make a difference between the poor or the rich, the sick or the healthy, or even the good and the bad."_ Is something she once said to me when I told her I was afraid of dogs (I'm not kidding you, I was deadly afraid of dogs when I was young. They were so wild and unpredictable and I took their enthusiasm as an attempt to attack me. Fortunately, after working with dogs on many missions as a cop, I've completely outgrown that fear).

As I mentioned before, my mother was ten years old when grandma died. Ten is still a fragile age, between childhood and puberty. And a very confusing age, in which your body changes gradually and you feel awkward and uncomfortable with yourself all the time. Mama looked at herself in the mirror often when her body underwent that drastic metamorphose. She tried to find something about her body that remained constant and that never changed, no matter how much the rest of her body changed. She found two things that never altered. Her navel and the birthmarks on her skin. Personally, I think navels grow bigger, but maybe my mom never thought of that, or maybe she just didn't notice it. She always cherished those two things about her body, as it was the only bridge between the cold, lonely adult and the happy child she was before grandma died. Years later she forbade me to ever take a navel piercing. Under any circumstance I had to keep it intact. And if I did pierce my navel, she promised me that she would rip it out personally. Not that I would ever take such a hideous thing in my navel, but every time I see Erasa's navel piercing, I have to think of my mother and her promise and I enjoy a private joke no one understands.

Eventually there comes a time when a girl suddenly gets cramps in her stomach and she whines that it hurts so much and that she is ill. And then she goes to the bathroom and finds a pool of blood in her white panties and the tears well up in her eyes because she is certain she is going to die. The first period changes something in a girl. She realizes something she has always been kind of fearful of… She is now fertile. She can get children now. She is now… a woman. It is so strange to be conscious of that. Most of the times a girl shares the moment with her mother. It's natural to share it with your mother. My mother, and me too actually, couldn't share the moment with our mothers. And her first period changed more for her than it does for any other girl.

When she had her first period when she was thirteen, she freaked out completely, because no one had ever explained to her that at a certain age girls start to menstruate. She ran to the neighbour's house in tears and explained that there was blood coming from her body. She _really_ believed she was going to die. The kind neighbour calmed my mother, who was in hysterics, and explained everything to her and that she was not going to die. Later Mamma told me that it was the single most embarrassing moment in her entire life. And it would also be the most life-altering moment as the neighbour called the Child Protective Service when my mother told her - she didn't know any better - that her father was almost never home and that she was left alone to take care of herself for long periods of time. He'd done that for as long as she could remember, even before her mother's death. She didn't realize then that it wasn't normal that her father was away all the time. She didn't understand that it was not only the task of a mother to take care of her children, but also the task of a father. Who could really blame her?

The next part of her life was… vague. She never talked much about it. What I do know is that social workers took her from her home and put her in a foster family, as my grandfather was too emotionally damaged; not only because of his wife's death but also because he finally realized what he'd done and what the consequences of his actions were. The moment he was able to take care of her again, my mother was allowed to go home again. It took three years before my uncle finished college, got an apartment and took my mother in his house. She never again lived in the home she was born, because my grandfather was found 'unsuitable' to take care of his child. Why he was found 'unsuitable' is still a mystery to me. And as he died two years ago, I doubt anyone will ever know.

Mamma never spoke of her time with the foster family. Whenever it was brought up a blank expression appeared on her face and everyone immediately knew that this was a subject too sore to talk about. Everyone understood and if they could help it they never talked about it in front of her. Therapists have tried, but they never succeeded in pulling the story out of her mouth. Whatever happened, it must have been traumatic. I pretty much have an idea, although I will never know for sure. Fact is that those three years changed her just as much as the three years after grandma's death. I've been told by old friends of her that she was a cynical woman, unpleasant to be with at times, silent and sometimes seemingly devoid of emotions. Like she was on automatic pilot for the rest of her life. She became hard.

When she met my father, she fell in love with him. It was a strange relationship. My father was considered a capital fellow, always a nice company, while my mother was silent and cold, not a generally nice person. No one understood how those two really got together and why. My father later told me that he loved her because she was so much better than him. So much wiser. So much stronger. She had her principles and her honour and he admired that in her, not to mention that she stunned him by her beauty. Why my mother loved my father… well, that's something I'm trying to figure out myself. Two complete opposites, and yet it seemed to work for them. Perhaps it's because my father gave her so much love, something she'd never gotten much of. Maybe she loved the love she received, and therefore stayed with him not for him, but for the love. I could imagine that.

Then I was born. It was the first time my father saw my mother crying. There were not tears of pain, but tears of joy. She was so incredibly happy with me. She saw it as a chance to do it better than her father. She could finally make up with her past and raise a child who never had to suffer. She promised herself that she would raise me with the best of her abilities and with unwavering devotion. But her views on raising a child quite differed from the common views.

You know what the common views are. Protect your children, support them unconditionally, teach them, love them and teach them to love. My mother thought that was nonsense. The popular views on raising a child was, in her opinion, only producing a generation of soft, weak children who didn't have the thick skin society demanded of everyone. The children from this generation would be lazy, frail, dependant people, who threw themselves in one mistake after the other and sobbed about it afterwards. They would be generally incompetent adults, unhappy and unsatisfied because they couldn't handle the fall after the peak. That's why my mother taught me to stand on my own legs from day one. Her concern, her only concern, was making me stronger than she was, mentally and physically, so I could never be hurt by anyone. She was preparing me for the real world, a place without the security of a loving home and the love of a parent.

She was hard on me. Everything I did well could always be better. She never gave compliments. She rather gave critique. She made me do things over and over again until she was satisfied with the way I practiced them. But she never yelled to get her way. She had more authority in her left pinkie than other people in their whole body. I listened to her right away whenever she instructed me to do something. Not because I was afraid that she'd be mad at me. Mamma never got mad and if she was mad, her anger was never directed to me. She was so cool, so calm. But she could give me the look… The look of disappointment. I can still picture that look on her face, her brows knitted together in a slight frown, her lips pressed into thin lines, her eyes looking at anything but me and the sigh. Maybe the sigh was the worst thing about it. I dreaded that look more than anything and I would have done everything not to see it on my mother's face.

My mother didn't allow me much. Drawing? Dolls? Playing with the neighbour's children? TV? Useless. She wanted me to practice my martial arts, which she, and not my father, as everyone believes, taught me. And if I didn't practice my martial arts, I'd better do something else that kept my body fit. Swimming, running, football… Everything that required a certain amount of physical effort was okay. And schoolwork, because she didn't want me to have bad grades. That was about the only thing she and other parents had in common. So as a child, I didn't have any toys. When I was a baby I had of course, but when I was three years old my mother took away my toys and replaced them with sport attributes, books and other things that were 'positive' for me. But my mother's efforts to prepare me for society weren't appreciated by many people. The neighbours, for example, almost wanted to call Child Protective Service because the experienced sensei my mother hired to train me was practically kicking the shit out of me at age seven. While my mother was looking. That was also too much for my father, who had allowed the way my mother raised me so far but could not turn a blind eye to this anymore. It was insane, it wasn't good for me, she was turning me into half a man, I wouldn't be able to relate well to other people, I was getting too mature for my age, I'd become just like her.

"_Whatever it takes, Hercule. Beat her up for ninety percent, and the other ten percent will make her stronger."_ Was all she said in defence, I later found out. My father made a scene but gave in eventually. Even he couldn't defy her authority.

And I got stronger. Not only physically, but also mentally. That same year, when I was seven, I got teased a lot by girls because I looked like a boy. It was before my father became famous and the girls occasionally stole my lunch, snickered whenever I said something in class, pulled my hair, drew on my shirt and made fun of me in front of other people. At first, it made me sad. I felt lonely. There was only on girl who liked me, Erasa, but the rest of the girls made me feel so miserable. I went to school with a big knob in my stomach, I couldn't sleep at night, I was that nervous to face them. After a few weeks I finally told my mother. And as I sat at the kitchen table with tears in my eyes, telling a story that would have broken the heart of any mother, she looked at me with a hard expression.

"_So what? They can't hurt you anyway."_

Now don't feel sorry for me. What my mom said might sound harsh, but in fact it was her way of saying she had faith in me. 'They can't hurt you anyway…' She expressed the firm belief that those girls, who were teasing me to no end, couldn't do anything, couldn't say anything, that could make me feel sad and miserable about myself. She believed I was stronger than to believe that. And if she believed it, it must be true, because she was always right. That line, that seemingly harsh line, was the best thing she could have said to me in that situation. Had she showed empathy and called the school to demand on high legs to do something about this situation, she would have deprived me of the opportunity to do something about this bullying myself. Had she called the school, the teacher would have tried to put an end to the situation, meaning he would punish the girls teasing me. The girls, who of course wouldn't see their mistake, would only get angry at me, and therefore the teasing would become a lot worse. All because my mother called school. And now, because she believed they couldn't hurt me, my mother gave me enough strength to take matters in my own hands. The next day I came to school and the first bully I came across received my first scowl, which would later become infamous. A week later, the girls were so impressed by me that they never again bullied me. Because of my mother, I learned to defend myself. I learned that people like that couldn't hurt me, that their attempts to make me feel miserable were in vain. It was a very wise lesson and it gave me the confidence I have today.

My mother learned me so many things that are valuable to me today. Whenever I was thrilled about something, she told me to handle it with more composure and not to please myself too much with empty matters such as a good grade, a goal, or good weather. She taught me to focus on the things that have to be done, instead of the things that are already done. A good grade is good, but the next has to be good also. A goal is wonderful, but can you score the next? Nice weather is lovely, but don't be upset when the rains comes down. This sounds like I wasn't allowed to enjoy the small things in life, but in fact it meant that, while I shouldn't be overjoyed about the small things, I shouldn't be disappointed about them either. She wanted me to be in a constant state of satisfaction, with no extreme peaks or falls. That way, no one and nothing, not even coincidence, I would never be disappointed. No one could ever hurt me.

If only she could see me now. It's like I'm living in a constant state of misery.

Her death was something none of us could foresee. We knew that she had a dangerous job, but the idea that she would die the way she did never crossed anyone's mind, not even hers. That she died so suddenly, so unexpectedly… so cruelly. To be shot on duty by the hostage taker of whom you thought you'd just gained his trust. And then to die with open eyes, the shock and the horror still on your face, carrying that expression for eternity…

Some people die of cancer or of old age, and their deaths is a process. Every day they die little by little until they go to sleep and never wake up. I heard that these deaths are excruciatingly beautiful. They rest in peace. Real peace, like they're in an eternal slumber. Their death itself is beautiful, the loss of a loved one is what makes it painful and bitter afterwards. But my ma wasn't granted that kind of death. She didn't die in peace. She died in chaos. Her death was caused by an act of violence. She lives on in a nightmare. Her last moments weren't shared with the people she loved, but she was alone. She was dying alone. It makes me mad. It makes me want to cry, because it's so unfair. A woman who deserved an honourable death was brutally slaughtered by a criminal she offered one last chance to better his life. She didn't deserve to die. She was the last person who deserved to die.

I'm a hypocrite. Like I already said, we're not in a place to judge who should die and who should not. We let a higher power take that judgement. For some, it's fate. For others it's coincidence. For yet others it's Kami. I don't care who or what it is. I hate him for taking my mother away from me. People say that some things are meant to happen and that you can only accept it, for you have no input or whatsoever, no say in whatever judgement a higher power takes. 'Their ways are mysterious.' But why? Why did she have to die? Never has fate or coincidence or Kami come to me and provided me with the answer I long to know the most, perhaps more than anything in the world. By what insane motivation have they decided that she should die, and not the man who killed her? Am I living in a world that is turned upside down?

And all of a sudden, the people who called my mother heartless call her the greatest woman the world could lose. Distant friends from all continents call themselves her best friend. Colleagues who envied her say that they wished her all the luck in the world, but that she wasn't allowed to receive it. And I… I say my mother is the best mother in the world. Not because she actually was, but because she was my mother. My mother, who worked at night just so she could be there for me during the day, when I most needed her. My mother, encouraging me with her presence when I was getting my swimming certificate. My mother, who brought me to school while all the other mothers were talking about her.

My strength. My hope. My life.

My mother… because she was the best for me.

* * *

Review if you like!


	11. Moving On And Move

Chapter 11:

Moving On And Move

* * *

I didn't know what happened to me in the few days after the shooting. Everything was such a blur to me that I didn't even know whether I was alive or dead. Now it all feels like a long dream with no end and no beginning. I had so many dreams, I didn't know when I was awake or sleeping, whether I was in the hard reality of the world or in the surreal episodes of dreamland. I was flying across the blue sky towards the horizon in one moment and the next I was in an overly-lit white room with doctors around me. I caught a couple of words…

… Life-threatening situation…

… Immediate surgery…

… Struggling for life…

What did I care anyway? I've never been the person to long for death or anything, don't get me wrong, but at those moments I wanted to sleep so badly and never wake up, just to escape from all the insanity around me. Distressed doctors, panicking nurses - sometimes I even heard people outside. Journalists, I later found out, fighting to get one glimpse at Videl Satan fighting for survival.

It was ridiculous. Even as I was lying in the hospital, in the bed with sheets that looked completely sterile – it was that white and clean – it felt like the whole world has lost its mind but me. Maybe it was because the lack of judgement I had in my alarming state, but my dreams made more sense than reality.

Luckily me they kept me unconscious for most of the time, so I could escape to my dreamland where no one could find me and where there is no knowledge of time.

Dreams are quite silly, aren't they? When I was dreaming, I thought my dreams would last forever. I wasn't thinking about what would happen when I woke up, because I didn't know I would. That's why my dreams never seem to have an end. Or a beginning. There are no boundaries. It's just one big episode of one surreal event after another. Maybe my dreams were happy because I didn't have a sense of time, no clock to press me down. The repressed part of my brains were satisfied by the fantasies. My dreams were the opposite of my life. Peaceful. Colourful. Limitless. Like the other side of the mirror. The world upside down.

After a while I recovered though. I didn't know how long it had taken me, but the first time I was conscious enough to talk with the doctor, he said I had been out for five days. My body hurt all over, like I'd run the marathon or something. And I was thirsty. My throat was sore and dry. I hardly recognized my own voice when I spoke to the doctor.

"Where's my father?" I asked with difficulty as he examined me.

"He went home yesterday. He was here for most of the time. He shouted at several of my colleagues, as a matter of fact. He's been very…present, so to call it. The nurse is already trying to contact him."

It was typical of my father to be absent at the moments he was needed the most. But I knew exactly what the doctor meant with 'present'. If his daughter was concerned, nothing was good enough, not even the doctors who tried to save me. It was illogical, but I was mad at him despite his efforts to give me the best care available. Again, at a crucial time in my life, he wasn't there. I had asked for him first thing when I woke up from my unconsciousness, and he failed to be present at the one time I really needed to see him.

But no, I woke up to no one but the doctors and a horde of journalists outside the door. It wasn't like anything I expected. My body didn't give me enough time to be angry about it though. Soon after the doctor left I fell asleep again. A sleep seem to have lasted until I woke up in my own comfortable room again.

When my eyes opened and I saw the cream-coloured walls, the sun shining through my open windows and everything I own that was dear to me, I felt a strange sort of relief. Like coming home after a long holiday. I turned my head on my pillow, cringing, for it was still hurting, and looked around the familiar space. Costs nor trouble were spared to give me the most spectacular homecoming a person can get.

There were big bouquets of flowers everywhere. The scent it gave was sweet and lovely. Get-well cards filled every cabinet or table in the room. Dozens of drawings, apparently made by children judged by the chaotic scribbling, covered my walls. There were big parcels wrapped up in colourful gift paper and shiny ribbons. It was almost ridiculous.

Suddenly, as I half admired, half rolled my eyes to the room, I heard a gasp.

"Sweet pea." A voice muttered on my right.

I immediately recognised my father's voice and I whirled my head to the right. I will never forget the look on his face when I first saw him after what felt like years.

My father, a big, bulky, often slightly terrifying man – appearance-wise – was now looking at me with a mixture of utter happiness and heartbreaking grief in his eyes. He looked like he was the most powerful man in the world, but at the same time he was smaller than I had ever seen him. He fell to his knees and took my hand, kissing it as he cried like he would never stop. In that moment, as he forgot all his pride and didn't care what the world thought of it, my heart melted and the anger I thought I would feel was, surprisingly, completely absent. A smile crept on my lips.

"I thought I'd lost you. I thought you'd die." My father said between his tears and sobs, placing my hand on his wet cheek and cherishing it like a treasure. He looked at me with big, watery orbs under his bushy eyebrows.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there, Videl. I'm sorry I've never been there at all. I'm-I'm…" He couldn't utter the next words as he was caught in a fit of crying. I had difficulty seeing him like this. So incredibly small. Watching a man his statue crying his eyes out was… impressive. And moving. I almost cried myself as I listened to his muffled apologies and I knew that he spoke the truth. That he was actually sorry. And even though this was only a moment, a short moment within a whole lifetime of moments, I allowed myself a little bit of hope.

"You're never fighting crime again. I forbid you."

As I gently stroke his cheek the smile on my lips grew bigger. Never fighting crime again… As if! But no matter. The moment was too precious to ruin. I would discuss it later. But for now, this was good. For now the hope of having a normal father-daughter relationship was warming my heart unlike anything ever before.

* * *

I didn't know when the change-over came, but a week later that hope was vanquished and gone, and the idea of my father and me in a normal father-daughter relationship seemed silly and much too ambitious.

The first few days after I woke up he was with me all the time. I was tired and slept a lot and we didn't talk much, but he was there, as if he was guarding me. I felt safe and happy, because he was finally there for me. But then I guess he thought he had done his fatherly duty, or he just lost his interest. One way or another, his visits were much less frequent, and when he came to my room to see how I was doing he was staying only for a short while, excusing himself with a 'the job is calling' when he left me again. And after a week, he didn't visit me at all. I asked the butler where he was and it turned out he was on business trip and that he would be gone for a few days. I cried in silence when I heard that. He never told me he'd be gone.

So there I was, disappointed and bitter again, concluding that nothing has changed between me and my father. Angry and hurt, I completely focussed on my recovery and started sitting up and walking around long before I was allowed to.

"Be careful, Vi. You're not supposed to be out of bed right now." Erasa whined when she watched me move around the room like an old woman with a broken hip. I growled in response.

Erasa was with me every day. She visited me in the mornings and the afternoons, before and after school. She came to see how I was doing and told everyone how I was doing. Sometimes she brought Sharpener, but that was not a success, unsurprisingly. Most of the time I was annoyed by him and I wished he was gone for the rest of it. But I did appreciate their concern.

"I'm going to school tomorrow." I muttered as I tried to walk to the TV and back.

"Don't be silly, it's too early." Erasa protested as she absently switched channels but never took her eyes off me, afraid I might fall.

"I've been lying in bed for almost two weeks. If I stay in bed any longer I think my muscles will deteriorate. I won't be able to walk. And then I have to stay in bed for the rest of my life."

I reached the TV and took a breath as I leaned on it.

Erasa sighed. "You're stubborn."

"And you're whining." I countered. Erasa was about to open her mouth when her eyes fell on the TV.

At first I thought it was a lame rip-off of a Batman movie. There was a guy in a funny suit and a helmet who was fighting guys who were supposedly robbing a back. Not interesting, so I turned my head to Erasa again…

… Until I heard the unmistakable tune of a news bulletin.

"Who this mysterious masked man is, is still unknown. But fact is that he single-handedly caught one of the most notorious Satan City criminals, Rob Bank, and his henchmen in a fight, apparently proving to be much more effective than the Satan City Police Department and also baffling bystanders as they watched the scene. Here is a video made by a witness on his cell phone. The images might be blurry."

What I saw the next moment was unbelievable. The 'mysterious masked man' seemed to dodge bullets. He disappeared and appeared out of nothing. He produced strange balls of light. He was incredibly fast. He was… he was…

… unreal.

"_What seems to be a cheap movie is entirely authentic according to experts. The head of Satan City Police Department has confirmed that, although the video shows a scene he calls 'completely out of this world', it is ' most likely the thing that happened." _

The news tuned to an interview with Police Commissioner Brown.

"_I am the first to classify these images as false if I could, but fact is that, however out of this world it may be, the images have to be real. Whoever this guy is, he did deliver us Rob Bank, one of the most searched-for criminals of our city. And I can tell you, that is not an easy job. We have been trying to catch him for years. So what happened on that video, how unreal it may be, is most likely the thing that happened."_

"_What are you going to do with the masked man now, Commissioner?"_

"_Well, he's taken law into his own hands. Of course we are thankful for his contribution in making this city a better place, but any repetition of today will not go unpunished. It is dangerous and irresponsible and might this happen again there will be consequences for this masked man._

The news tuned to the studio again, while my disbelief grew with every second I kept watching.

"Now that this masked man appeared, making our streets safer with his unbelievable abilities, the question rises: what will happen with Videl Satan if the masked fighter makes another appearance? Videl Satan, our beloved crime fighter in service of the Satan City Police Department, has been recovering from the shooting at a kindergarten two weeks ago of which she was a victim. Now that this masked man introduced himself for the first time, will he mean serious competition for our city's beloved protector?"

As if Erasa could read my mind, she quickly turned off the TV and the next moment I was staring at a black screen, pondering about the news I just heard.

"Videl?" Erasa asked, a hint of concern in her voice. I didn't respond. I started walking around again, as if the news didn't worry me at all.

"It's just a goon, Erasa." I tried to assure her, unconvincingly for myself. "It's just one of those guys who wants his fifteen minutes of fame. In a week everyone will have forgotten him. It's not like this one thing means he is some sort of second protector of Satan City. He probably won't show his face again, because if he does the police will try to catch him. What he's done is against the law."

"Videl?"

"And that video was very blurry. A masked hero with superpowers, c'mon! Alright, he's caught that criminal, but I bet it was just dumb luck. Have you ever heard about a superhero with amazing strength, unbelievable speed and awesome abilities, aside from superheroes in comic books or in movies? It doesn't exist. I don't know why there's such a fuss about it.

"Videl?"

"Don't 'Videl' me!"

Erasa looked at me concerned from the other side of the room and I immediately regretted my harsh tone.

"You're right." She said, trying to sound as though she was brushing off that masked dude. "In a week everyone will have forgotten him."

I know she was lying and that she was saying that in an attempt to comfort me, and I realised I should be very lucky with a friend like Erasa. She walked over to me and lay her hand over my shoulder.

"Now, moving on and let's get you moving again." She sounded genuinely cheerful. It made me smile.

"Yes, let's." I replied, sounding as though I didn't care about the news I just heard at all. But in my head, one particular line kept repeating itself over and over again.

_Now that this masked man introduced himself for the first time, will he mean serious competition for our city's beloved protector?_

* * *

Next day people were surprised to see me at school so soon. Even though I still had difficulty walking and the doctors strongly tried to discourage me from leaving my bed, I went anyway. I didn't know what I found more annoying: all the people staring at me or all the people asking me how I was.

Luckily Erasa never left my side. Ever since the news bulletin and the appearance of the 'masked man', she had been very supportive and she never tried to discourage me from going. I guess she knew that now, after that masked dude caught that criminal, I was more determined than ever to get back to my old life again, to school… and to crime fighting. Maybe she knew that despite my efforts to brush him off as a one-day fly, I felt threatened by the dude. Even though I never uttered it to anyone, I was afraid that he might take my position as the city's protector.

The whole day, Erasa told people to back off as I made my way from one class to the other. In class I only had to deal with the stares of people as Erasa specifically asked the teachers not to give me any more attention than the other students. She didn't want any public interrogation by the teachers in front of the entire class and I was relieved that they listened to her.

During lunch break, when Sharpener joined us and cracked his knuckles at anyone who came too close to me, I didn't have to cope with whining people asking me how I was. After half a day, they got the message. Nevertheless, everyone seemed to like my table a lot, since the whole school made sure they walked past me once or twice at least. It was during lunch break when he walked past me too, staring at me like all the other people around me. _Gohan._

When my eyes met his I immediately looked away. From the corner of my eyes I saw him throw something in the trash can and walk to his seat again. I knew that this particular trash can wasn't the closest one to his seat and I understood that he just wanted to see if it was true, that Videl Satan had really returned to school again. I sighed.

Suddenly I remembered that vague dream I had about him. I was naked, everyone was laughing at me and he came to me and covered me with a towel. It felt nice. That is, before he snapped my neck and killed me.

I thought about the day I first met him. He told me he killed his father. I didn't believe him, and refused to believe it until this day. But still, what did that dream mean then? Was it trying to warn me? Was I next? Or was it just a reflection of that eventful day that I met him?

As he walked away with his back towards me I followed him with his eyes. Erasa caught me watching him. I quickly looked away when I noticed she saw it.

"He's been asking about you." She muttered softly so Sharpener, who was currently giving people his look of death, couldn't hear it.

"Who?" I asked innocently, as if I didn't know what she was talking about. Erasa rolled her eyes and nodded at Gohan.

"I think he was concerned about you." She continued.

I didn't want to talk about it, but it was nice to hear that he's been thinking about me. I rose from my chair and grabbed my plate of half-eaten food.

"I'm going to class." I announced.

Erasa nodded. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"It's Latin. You don't take Latin." I said as I was about to walk away with the plate. Erasa rose too and took the plate from me.

"I'll take this. See you after school?"

"Sure."

Maybe I was kind of snappy, but I wanted to be alone at that moment. Don't get me wrong, I was happy with Erasa as a friend and thankful for all that she had done for me that day, but I didn't want to talk to her about Gohan. I saw them together the first day of school, during lunch, chatting as though their lives depended on it. I wondered how good friends they had become during my absence and I started to feel uneasy with the thought of them being very good friends. It wasn't a secret she liked him, but did he like her too?

I didn't want to think about it. Nor did I want to wonder what they discussed together. And if they talked every day.

When I entered the classroom no one was there. I dragged myself to my usual seat and dumped my bag on the seat next to me. I should have enjoyed that moment of complete solitude, looking through the window at the people on the schoolyard, but my mind was too much on the Gohan-Erasa issue. I didn't want to admit it, but putting the two together in my thoughts gave me a feeling I hardly ever felt before. A stinging feeling of uneasiness that just wouldn't go away, no matter how much I tried to think of something else. It made me feel…

… unhappy.

Then, all of a sudden, in a moment that seemed like a déjà-vu, I heard _his_ voice.

"Is this seat taken?"

I whirled my head and saw him in all his handsome glory. He looked just the same as two weeks ago, when I first met him, and just like that day a feeling of warmth entered my body and defeated the uneasy feeling I felt before. It took me ages to respond, but eventually I grabbed my bag and emptied the seat next to me. He sat down. I was nervous.

Why did he come and sit next to me? In a classroom where all the seats were empty? Couldn't he have picked another seat? Why next to me? Those questions raced through my head as he shifted in his chair. His long legs reached the chair in front of him.

"How've you been?" He asked after a while. I felt he was nervous too.

I shrugged and tried to act like a normal human being. "It was all over the news. I've been strapped to bed for the last couple of weeks."

"Yes, I saw it." He replied. "On the news, I mean."

"Yes, well… You weren't the only one." I said bitterly.

"I'm sorry about that."

"About what?"

"You know… It must be difficult, having the whole world watching you."

I didn't know what to say. When I looked in his eyes I saw compassion and warmth. I smiled, despite myself.

"Yes. It is, actually." I watched his face and wondered why I always seemed to be so frank with him. I guess that's how it goes with people who are sincere in everything they do and say. They force other people to be sincere as well.

"I was worried about you." He continued. I may be wrong, but I thought I saw a slight shade of pink on his cheeks. "When I heard you were shot…"

He laughed nervously and didn't end his sentence.

"I'm hard to get rid of." I joked.

He smiled. "Apparently. So are you still going on with crime fighting?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

He looked at me slightly surprised. "You could have been dead."

I pretended I couldn't care less. "I've been in crazier situations."

"More dangerous?"

"Sure."

"Were you ever so close to dying before than as you were two weeks ago?"

I swallowed. "No. I guess this was the closest to dying."

He looked at me significantly, but he didn't say anything. I could tell he didn't approve.

"It's part of the job. I have a dangerous, risky job. But it makes the city better." I said, somehow trying to justify my decision in going on with crime fighting.

"Isn't that the job of the police?" He countered. I got a bit annoyed.

"I am the police."

I think he knew I was sort of irritated by him and his questions that gave me the feeling that he clearly didn't agree with me.

"I'm sorry." He muttered. "I don't want you to get hurt."

I looked into his eyes and saw that he really meant it. He was so genuine in everything, so sincere. I couldn't imagine that he'd ever lie. My irritation ebbed away and made place for that funny, typical feeling I got every time I looked into his eyes. He smiled crookedly and a warmth washed all over me. I wished we could have been alone like this for some more time, but the other students entered the classroom.

As I was being gawked at by practically everyone, the moment between Gohan and me was gone. I sighed disappointed as I grabbed my bag and pulled my books out of them. He did the same and for a while we didn't speak to each other, since the teacher entered the classroom and started his class.

It would have been interesting, if I didn't pay so much attention to the fact that Gohan was sitting not a foot away from me. He didn't want me to get hurt. I constantly thought about it. It was insane. How could I act so strangely when Gohan was around me?

The class was one blur. I didn't remember anything of it in the end. When the bell rang and school was over, I turned to Gohan. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what. He looked at me too. I became shy under his gaze.

"Thank you." I muttered stupidly. I didn't understand why I said thank you, and I believe he didn't either, but before I could explain myself and give him the impression that I was not a complete idiot, Erasa was already behind me.

"Ready to go home?" She asked cheerfully. I didn't know how she got here so soon, but I resented it. For the second time that day, I wished she wasn't there.

"Yes." I said and I pulled myself to my feet.

"Can I help?" Gohan asked as he watched me getting from my chair with difficulty.

"No, that's alright." I said. I looked at him apologetically. "I'll-eh… see you around, okay?"

He nodded and before I knew it Erasa was already dragging me through the hallway.

"You were sitting next to Gohan!" She exclaimed at such a volume that I'm sure he heard.

"Yeah. I know." I muttered, embarrassed.

"Are you friends then?"

"Yes. Yes, I think were are. Let's go home."

And we went home. Erasa was chatting about something but I wasn't listening. Gohan and I friends? Yes, maybe so. But for the first time I caught myself with a thought that made me flush, worried and angry with myself at the same time…

… The thought of being more than friends.

* * *


End file.
